| My heart is like the failing hearth
Now by my side, One by one its bursts of flame Have burnt and died. There are none to watch the sinking blaze, |
5 |
| And none to care,
Or if it kindle into strength, Or waste in air. My fate is as yon faded wreath Of summer flowers; |
10 |
| They've spent their store of fragrant health
On sunny hours, Which reck'd them not, which heeded not When they were dead; Other flowers, unwarn'd by them, |
15 |
| Will spring instead.
And my own heart is as the lute I now am waking; Wound to too fine and high a pitch They both are breaking. |
20 |
| And of their song what memory
Will stay behind? An echo, like a passing thought, Upon the wind. Silence, forgetfulness, and rust, |
25 |
| Lute, are for thee:
And such my lot; neglect, the grave, These are for me. |