The day has passed, love, when I might
Have offered thee this heart of mine,
As one whose yet unclouded light
Was clear and pure, and bright as thine.
When, though I gazed on thee as one
Who worships a bright distant star,
Thou didst not blush to be my sun,
Mine, dear, thy Persian worshipper.

And now, although it be but shame
To be adored by such as I,
That love in sadness yet will flame,
Knows no decay, can never die.
Its soul of fire has no decline,—
Rocks check not the abundant river;
And though thou never canst be mine,
I'm thine, love, thine alone, forever.