In the cold change which time hath wrought on love (The snowy winter of his summer prime),
Should a chance sigh or sudden tear-drop move Thy heart to memory of the olden time;
Turn not to gaze on me with pitying eyes,
Nor mock me with a withered hope renewed;
But from the bower we both have loved, arise And leave me to my barren solitude!
What boots it that a momentary flame Shoots from the ashes of a dying fire?
We gaze upon the hearth from whence it came,
And know the exhausted embers must expire:
Therefore no pity, or my heart will break;
Be cold, be careless—for thy past love's sake!
