They tell me that I must not love, That thou wilt spurn the free And unbought tenderness that gives Its hidden wealth to thee. It may be so: I heed it not, Nor would I change my blissful lot, When thus I am allowed to make My heart a bankrupt for thy sake. They tell me when the fleeting charm Of novelty is o’er, Thou ’lt turn away with careless brow And think of me no more. It may be so! enough for me If sunny skies still smile o’er thee, Or I can trace, when thou art far, Thy pathway like a distant star.
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