I often think of each tottering form

That limps along in lifes decline,

For they bore a heart as young, as warm,

As full of idle thoughts as mine-

And each has had its dream of joy,

His own unequalled pure romance;

Commencing when the blushing boy

First thrills at lovely woman's glance.

And each could tell his tale of youth,

Would think its scenes of love evince

More passion, more unearthly truth,

Than any tale, before or since

Yes - they could tell of tender lays,

At midnight penn'd in classic shades;

-Of days more bright the modern day;

-Of maids more fair than living maids.

Of whispers in a willing ear,

Of kisses on a blushing cheek;

(-Each kiss - each whisper far too dear

For modern lips to give or speak.)

Of prospects too, untimely crossed,

Of passions slighted or betray'd,

Of kindred spirits early lost,

And buds that blossom but to fade.

Of beaming eyes and tresses gay,

-Elastic form and noble brow;

And charms - that all have passed away,

And left them - What we see them now!

And is it so? - Is human love

So very light and a frail thing?

And must youth's brightest visions move,

Forever on time's restless wing?

Must all eves that still are bright,

And all the lips that talk of bliss,

And all we the forms so fair tonight,

Hereafter - only to come this?

Then what are love's best visions worth,

If we at length must lose them thus?

If all we value most on earth

'Ere long must fade away from us?

If that one being whom we take

From all the world, and still recur

To all she said - and for her sake

Feel far from joy - when far from her-

If that one form which we adore

From youth to age, in bliss or pain,

Soon withers - and is seen no more-

Why do we love - If love be vain?