Century of Roundels — Wasted Love

The stars of the past and the beacons are paling, The heavens and the waters are hoarier of hue: But the heart in us chants not an all unavailing Farewell and adieu.

WASTED LOVE.

WHAT shall be done for sorrow With love whose race is run?

Where help is none to borrow, What shall be done?

In vain his hands have spun The web, or drawn the furrow: No rest their toil hath won.

His task is all gone thorough, And fruit thereof is none: And who dare say to-morrow What shall be done?