My sorrowing heart is like the blasted oak
That claspt the dazzling lightning to its breast,
Yielding its life up to the burning kiss.
Springs came along and fondled all in vain,
And Summers toy'd with warm and am'rous breath;
But nought in life could e'er again restore
The greening foliage of its early days.
Man never loves but once--then 'tis a cast
For life or death. If death--alas the day!
If life--'twere perfect Paradise.