Bradford, Yorkshire.
_Deceitfulness of Love._
Go, sit by the summer sea,
Thou, whom scorn wasteth,
And let thy musing be
Where the flood hasteth.
Mark how o'er ocean's breast
Rolls the hoar billow's crest;
Such is his heart's unrest
Who of love tasteth.
Griev'st thou that hearts should change?
Lo! where life reigneth,
Or the free sight doth range,
What long remaineth?
Spring with her flow'rs doth die;
Fast fades the gilded sky;
And the full moon on high
Ceaselessly waneth.
Smile, then, ye sage and wise;
And if love sever
Bonds which thy soul doth love,
Such does it ever!
Deep as the rolling seas,
Soft as the twilight breeze,
But of _more_ than these
Boast could it never!
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