Go, go, thy heart is still thine own,
Go, taste of joy and gladness;
I fondly dreamt that heart mine own,
To hope so now were madness.
Many a mortal yet will woo thee,
Many a lover trust that smile,
But, if well as I they knew thee,
Few thy beauty would beguile.
Like the merchant who has ventured
All his fortune on the sea,
So in thee my hopes were center’d,
Destin’d soon a wreck to be.
Then fare-thee-well, we meet no more
Better had we never met;
Thou hast many joys in store,
I have none--my sun is set.