The Cold Change

In the cold change which time hath wrought on love

(The snowy winter of his summer prime),

Should a chance sigh or sudden tear-drop move

Thy heart to memory of the olden time;

Turn not to gaze on me with pitying eyes,

Nor mock me with a withered hope renewed;

But from the bower we both have loved, arise

And leave me to my barren solitude!

What boots it that a momentary flame

Shoots from the ashes of a dying fire?

We gaze upon the hearth from whence it came,

And know the exhausted embers must expire:

Therefore no pity, or my heart will break;

Be cold, be careless—for thy past love's sake!