The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove,

  Is fair—but oh, how fair,

If Pity's hand had stolen from Love

One leaf, to mingle there!

If every rose with gold were tied,

  Did gems for dewdrops fall,

One faded leaf where Love had sighed

  Were sweetly worth them all.

The wreath you wove,—the wreath you wove

  Our emblem well may be;

Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love

  Must keep its tears for me.