Time, Hope, And Memory.

I heard a gentle maiden, in the spring,     Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing:     "Fly through the world, and I will follow thee,     Only for looks that may turn back on me;     "Only for roses that your chance may throw -     Though withered - Twill wear them on my brow,     To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain, -     Warm'd with such love, that they will bloom again."     "Thy love before thee, I must tread behind,     Kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind;     But trust not all her fondness, though it seem,     Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream."     "Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet;     But smiles betray, and music sings deceit;     And words speak false; - yet, if they welcome prove,     I'll be their echo, and repeat their love."     "Only if waken'd to sad truth, at last,     The bitterness to come, and sweetness past;     When thou art vext, then turn again, and see     Thou hast loved Hope, but Memory loved thee."