THE IMPROVISATRICE.
71
But every time and place will be
With thy remembrance fraught!
Farewell! we have not often met—
We may not meet again;
But on my heart the seal is set
Love never sets in vain!
Fruitless as constancy may be,
No chance, no change, may turn from thee
One who has loved thee wildly, well—
But whose first love-vow breathed—farewell.
And lays which only told of love
In all its varied sorrowing,
The echoes of the broken heart,
Were all the songs I now could sing.
