CHAGRIN D'AMOUR.

IF Love and I were all alone

I might forget to grieve,

And for his pleasure and my own

Might happier garlands weave;

But you sit there, and watch us wear

The mourning wreaths you wove:

And while such mocking eyes you bear

I am not friends with Love.

Withdraw those cruel eyes, and let

Me search the garden through

That I may weave, ere Love be set,

The wreath of Love for you;

Till you, whom Love so well adorns,

Its hidden thorns discover,

And know at last what crown of thorns

It was you gave your lover.