True, separations[iq]

Ask more than patience;

What desperations

From such have risen!

But yet remaining,

What is't but chaining

Hearts which, once waning,

Beat 'gainst their prison?

Time can but cloy love,

And use destroy love:

The wingéd boy, Love,

Is but for boys—

You'll find it torture

Though sharper, shorter,

To wean, and not wear out your joys.

December 1, 1819.

[First published, New Monthly Magazine, 1832, vol. xxxv. pp. 310-312.]