V.

I want nothing of the World's loveless gifts,
When time and time again I, searching, see
That all I long to hold just moves and shifts
And ne'er becomes what I wish it to be.
My friend, are we to carry on like this?
With heaving weight of weariness and woe?
Or is it but my own sole fate to miss
The days when, in the sun, my heart would grow?
These eyes are dimmed now; empty hands still grasp
At shadows numberless and vastly ranged
O'er the path to the Precipice----I gasp!
I cannot know myself, as I have changed;
Ah, but change e'er the Seasons softly will,
And bring my heart from Spring to Winter still.