98
THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
If suffered but for thy dear sake;
But they must be unshared by thee.
I cannot watch the cold decline
Of love that wastes itself away:
I am too used to warm sunshine,
To bear the moonlight's paler ray.
I am too proud—vain hope to feel
I could not brook thy secret sighs;
I love—how could I bear to read
Reproach or sorrow in thine eyes?
Oh, vain it were that honour kept
Sacred the early vow it made,
Or pity like a phantom wept
O'er the dark urn where love was laid.
