When you shall walk in pensive mood
The happy paths we used to know,
And sad, regretful thoughts intrude,
And hopeless dreams of long ago,
How will your wakened spirit bear
Its bitter pang, its bleak despair?

When in your heart, as now in mine,
Shall throb the pulse of arid grief,—
Since nothing earthly or divine
In that dark hour can bring relief,—
How will you mourn o'er wasted bliss,
And that wild moment long for this!

The echo of a silent word,
An exhalation of the dew,
A lonely sigh at midnight heard
In depth of some funereal yew,—
Those shall be more, in that black day,
Than your true lover past away.

Then do not scorn the present hour,
Nor crush the roses while they bloom!
The best of time has only power
To hang a garland on a tomb;
And all that lasts when years are sped
Is hopeless memory of the dead.