The Lament of Bygone Love

O! When love, in wayward twilight, wandereth,
yea, and fadeth therein, in the malign mist,
doth we mark the paths we so vainly hath trodden,
so as to forbear our oblivious feet upon them again?

Nay, to larn, through flaws, is not among our misuse`d feats
Too oft hath we walk`d t`ward life`s bitter ends,
tainting the wayside with our tranquil serenade,
bewailing thus bygone chances, by our flaw, unveil`d,
through elegiac laments, ridden with pain.

But Alas! That when one love`s end swiftly draweth nigh
it deceiveth us, and we wand`reth the same paths, thereby.

For love hath faces, more than one,
and oft seemeth it fair, but is cruel.
Alas! that we saw not, yon`, our path`s end,
vainly naming the vilest love our friend.

Yea, forsooth, love can be dark, as the night,
though alike tepid summer-days seemeth it, at first sight,
ever and anon, as truly `tis, shall we see,
winter, as cold and bleak as only winter can be

Such was the languid love, in which I stay`d.
How it paineth within, when one by love is betray`d.

Even I, one that hath faith in love, forsooth,
hath spoken vile words to the dark of night, in truth,
"This fragile love, `tis better left bygone,
I would rather now wander the unforeseen paths of life,
alone."