I crave of you pardon to-day,
Yesterday I was mad when I spoke;
But the dream of our friendship was fair,
And my heart seemed to die when I woke.
I forgot when the fair image grew
Till a goddess's beauty it bore,
That the beautiful moulding was mine,
The clay was but clay as before.
I slept by a fountain one eve,
And thirsting awakened to drink;
But the waters I dreamt of were gone,
The young grass lay dead on the brink.
Did I think that the sun of to-day
Would shine out to-morrow as fair?
Did I vow this sweet breeze would return,
That now lifts with soft fingers my hair?

Then I were a fool so to dream
So, friend, grant your pardon to me.
She I loved and I lost was not you,
But what I had wished you to be.