L'amour ne suffit pas au bonheur; les richesses
y font aussi beaucoup de cas, et parfois sans les
richesses, l'amour ne produit que la misère.
C'est grand dommage, mais c'est vrai.--_Madame de Beaumarchais._
Alas! alas, that poverty's cold hand
Should come to wither young affection's flowers--
Marring the fairy pictures hope has planned
Of love and joy in future happy hours--
Alas, that all the blessings fancy showers
O'er the young heart, should turn to grief and tears,
Poisoning the cup of life through all our after-years!
A moment's pleasure and an age of pain--
One hour of sunshine, and the rest all gloom--
And this, oh Love, is what from thee we gain--
Of all who bow before thee, this the doom--
And in thy footsteps, like the dread Zamoom,
Pale sorrow comes, a longer-dwelling guest,
To curse the wasted heart that once by thee was blest.