Poems of Passion — 42 - You will forget me

Days will grow cold, and moons wax old.

And then a heart that's true Is better far than grace or gold-- And so, my love, adieu!

I cannot wed with you.

YOU WILL FORGET ME.

You will forget me.

The years are so tender, They bind up the wounds which we think are so deep;

This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendor Fades from the skies when the sun sinks to sleep;

The cloud of forgetfulness, over and over Will banish the last rosy colors away, And the fingers of time will weave garlands to cover The scar which you think is a life-mark to-day.

You will forget me.

The one boon you covet Now above all things will soon seem no prize;

And the heart, which you hold not in keeping to prove it True or untrue, will lose worth in your eyes.

The one drop to-day, that you deem only wanting To fill your life-cup to the brim, soon will seem But a valueless mite; and the ghost that is haunting The aisles of your heart will pass out with the dream.

You will forget me; will thank me for saying The words which you think are so pointed with pain.

Time loves a new lay; and the dirge he is playing Will change for you soon to a livelier strain.

I shall pass from your life--I shall pass out forever, And these hours we have spent will be sunk in the past.

Youth buries its dead; grief kills seldom or never, And forgetfulness covers all sorrows at last.

THE FAREWELL OF CLARIMONDE.