Page:Ethel Churchill Fragments III.pdf/17



I cannot count the changes of my heart, So often has it turned away from things Once idols of its being. They depart— Hopes, fancies, joys, illusions, as if wings Sprang suddenly from all old ties, to start; Or, if they linger longer, life but brings Weariness, hollowness, canker, soil, and stain, Till the heart saith of pleasure, it is pain.