Classic Poem

“What ails my dearie Love? (the old nurse cried)
This bitter trouble now, my pretty dove,
In me confide.”

“He said my cheeks were thin, that I was pale,
And as I looked I saw his love within
Grow faint, and fail.

“Then when he touched my hand, my heart grew chill;
His touch was cold—I do not understand—
It used to thrill.

“Why should his love have failed that once was bright?
It was for love of him I sighed and paled,
And lost delight.

“I sighed for his return the livelong day,
And O, it is a bitter thing to learn
Love fades away.”

“Love does not fail, my dearie, (she replied)
'Tis we who fail of love, becoming weary:
Love never died.

“Because the gardener cuts the richest bloom,
Only a tropic plant morosely shuts
Itself in gloom.

“Love has his night and day, and oft the night
Wakes beauty that the sun's too garish ray
Seems to affright.

“Love yet again, Sweetheart; spend all thy store,
For love that spends itself doth learn Love's art
And grows to more;

“But love that strives to gain, weeps love away,
Turning to bitter hatred and disdain
The fount of day.”