Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/305



I would not care, at least so much, sweet Spring, For the departing colour of thy flowers— The green leaves early falling from thy boughs— Thy birds so soon forgetful of their songs— Thy skies, whose sunshine ends in heavy showers;— But thou dost leave thy memory, like a ghost, To haunt the ruined heart, which still recurs To former beauty; and the desolate Is doubly sorrowful when it recalls It was not always desolate.

those eyes have forgotten the smile they wear now, When care shall have shadowed that beautiful brow— When thy hopes and thy roses together lie dead, And thy heart turns back pining to days that are fled—