Thou bidst me sing the lay I sung to thee

  In other days ere joy had left this brow;

But think, tho' still unchanged the notes may be,

  How different feels the heart that breathes them now!

The rose thou wearst to-night is still the same

  We saw this morning on its stem so gay;

But, ah! that dew of dawn, that breath which came

  Like life o'er all its leaves, hath past away.

Since first that music touched thy heart and mine,

  How many a joy and pain o'er both have past,—

The joy, a light too precious long to shine,—

  The pain, a cloud whose shadows always last.

And tho' that lay would like the voice of home

  Breathe o'er our ear, 'twould waken now a sigh—

Ah! not, as then, for fancied woes to come,

  But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by.