Classic Poem

FIRST LOVER

Love that is spoken often dies,
Quick as the light in evening skies,
Or as a song upon the ear,
And leaves no answering spirit near:
Wilt thou be true? Shall I ne'er rue
My plighted faith? Wilt thou be true?

ECHO

Wilt thou be true?

SECOND LOVER

That doubt, O maiden, do not name!
Changeless as yon eternal flame
My spirit evermore shall be
In its full worshipping of thee.
I will be true! Thou shalt not rue
Thy plighted faith! I will be true

ECHO

I will be true.

FIRST LOVER

O Love, I mourned thy broken faith,
And now I live to mourn thy death,
And, like the echo ringing clear,
Thy voice was false within my ear!
" I will be true." O! echo earth,
Are these things only for your mirth?

ECHO

Only for — mirth.