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THE INCONSTANT.
249
I will not own a brighter eye
Than mine has caught your truant sigh,—
I will not own a fairer brow
Than mine has made you captive now.
I deem my eye is still as bright
As when it fixed your charmed sight;
I deem my brow is still as fair
As when you gazed and worshipped there.
But well I know that they have been
Once, twice, or thrice already seen,—
I know the charm of change too well
Not to bow down to such a spell.
Love's vows are writ upon the wave,
And are unto themselves a grave.
They call Love ever young; but he
Is as old age in memory.
Farewell then, sometime love of mine,
Yet claim I gratitude of thine;
Surely that love is something worth
Whose death is laughing as its birth.
L. E. L.
