Inconstancy

Ci]ígíiíipiiirgis Against the curtained pane, beloved, The snow beats thiele and fast, The wild wiad's sorruwful refrain Is telling of the past- And in the oíd familiar chair, Beside the hearth-iire's glow, I Bit and ainfj the tender air You loved so long ago. Ah. often since the springs, beloved, Huve bloomed above your rest, I b oathe tïie sweet old song that singa ltself withiu iny breast - As liililren, in the oheerless daj'8 Whso winter darkly lowers, Eetraee the garden's sodden ways, liid' tük of last years's flowenj. It ncver seemed to you, beloved, When wo walked' hand in hand, Amid the sunshine and the dew Of youth's enchanted land, - It never seemed to you or ifle That I could sing or sinile If you were lj-ing sileutly "Witlrin your grave the while. We thought we eould not live, beloved, If we wero torn apart - i bat earth would have no more to give To either stricken heart ; - Alns, the change that time has wrought Your grave has held you long, And in a home where you are not, I sing the dear old song ! Do you look back to me, beloved, From out your happy sphere. And deem me false, thát I can be Alive, and you not here ? Death does not always bring its balm To every aching ill- Life may outlast its dearest charmy And heart-break does not kill. It would have been the same, beloved. Ha 1 I been first to die- Another love hatl vrorn your name, More dear; perchance, than I: Ah, aftér all these weary years, Woiiid you more sonstant be? And would yon drsp theíe bitter tears, And sing the song for me 't