The first time that the sun rose on thine
To love me,
I looked forward to the
To slacken all those bonds which seemed too
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-loving hearts,
I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself,
I seemed not
For such man's love!—more like an
Worn viol, a good singer would be
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did not wrong myself so, but I placedA wrong on thee.
For perfect strains may float'Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,—And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.
