11
O thou unfaithful, still as ever dearest,
That in thy beauty to my eyes appearest,
In fancy rising now to re-awaken
My love unshaken;
All thou’st forgotten, but no change can free thee,
No hate unmake thee; as thou wert I see thee,
And am contented, eye from fond eye meeting
Its ample greeting.
O thou my star of stars, among things wholly
Devoted, sacred, dim and melancholy,
The only joy of all the joys I cherished
That hast not perished,
Why now on others squand’rest thou the treasure,
That to be jealous of is still my pleasure:
As still I dream ’tis me whom thou invitest,
Me thou delightest?
But day by day my joy hath feebler being,
The fading picture tires my painful seeing,
And faery fancy leaves her habitation
To desolation.
Of two things open left for lovers parted
’Twas thine to scorn the past and go lighthearted:
But I would ever dream I still possess it,
And thus caress it.