But, life compounds the dregs to luscious draughts;
And various pleasure mocks monotonous woe;
And all the wheels and hinges show their crafts,
Leaving no room for the full spirit’s flow;
Even love forbids the soul, for human loss,
To wear less brightly, its heaven-tinctur’d fire,
And shows it lovelier, to exalt the cross
Into the pledge of love, still struggling higher:
Only the eternal breath of Nature’s beauty
Demands the unchanged devotion of our years.
Immortal constancy of shifting duty
Crowns the rich harvest of our sometime tears:
What’s spent in loving, richly is defrayed,
Though nought’s returned, by lending we are paid.