Classic Poem

They say that thou art alter'd, Amy,
They say that thou no more
Dost keep within thy bosom, Amy,
The faith that once it wore;

They tell me that another now
Doth thy young heart assail;
They tell me, Amy, too, that thou
Dost smile on his love tale.

But I — I heed them not, my Amy,
Thy heart is like my own;
And still enshrined in mine, my Amy,
Thine image lives alone:

Whate'er a rival's hopes have fed,
Thy soul cannot be moved
Till he shall plead as I have plead,
And love as I have loved.