V

As I, when this sweet day is gone,

      Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,

            Insults with this untimely moan;

            They might lament—for I am one

      Whom men love not.—and yet regret,

            Unlike this day, which, when the sun

      Shall on its stainless glory set,

Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet.