354
To * * * *
I never dreamed that lips so sweet,
That eyes of such a heavenly hue,
Were framed for falsehood and deceit,
Would prove, as they have proved—untrue.
Methought if love on earth e'er shone,
'Twas in the temple of thine eyes,
And if truth's accents e'er were known,
'Twas in the music of thy sighs.
Has then thy love been all a show,
Thy plighted truth an acted part—
Did no affection ever glow
In the chill region of that heart?
And could'st thou seem to me to cling
Like tendril of the clasping vine,
Yet all prove vain imagining,
Thy soul yield no response to mine?
