Love, dost thou smile—believing thou shalt cheat
The triform Fates, because thou art so sweet?
Thy beauty, which delights and makes afraid,
Shall surely as the rose of autumn fade,
And pain and grief shall find thee, and slow scorn;
And thou shalt know neglect, and friendship hollow;
And at the last, pale hope, thy light of morn,
Shall bring thee to a goal where none will follow.
Love, dost thou weep—in all the sorrowing earth,
Thou the one only thing of perfect worth?
Midnight and morn alike to thee belong;
Poor, thou art rich; defenceless, thou art strong;
Upon thy altar burns perpetual fire
That mounts and flames aloft to heaven's high portal;
Thou quickenest, from evil, pure desire,—
Triumphant in defeat, in death immortal!