I'VE closed my book of hope, love,
And folded down the page;
I'll read no more therein, love,
Until some quiet age
When paler dreams than these, love,
My chastened heart engage.

I'm going far away, love,
Where no vain wish may thrive;
Where hope may lie quite still, love,
Deep buried, yet alive!
And there I'll live alone, love,
Till serer years arrive.

If then I should return, love,
From yon forgotten strand,
And--your dear form all bent, love,--
You greet me, hand to hand;
If then our eyes should meet, love,
I think you'll understand.