Oh, believe not, my dearest, I ever could leave thee,
Or cause thee to weep when life sinks in decay ;
Oh, think not, my love, that I e'er could deceive thee :-
The sun brightest beams at the closing of day.

As, the ivy encircles the ruin'd old cloister,
And clings all the closer the nearer its end ;
So thee in my arms, love, I fondly will foster,
And still prove myself thine unchangeable friend.

Oh, believe not, my love, when thine head is grown hoary,
I'll leave thee for those in the bloom of their youth ;
The snow of the locks is a bright crown of glory,
When found in the way of the sun-beam of truth.

But believe that I'll love and most fondly will cherish,
And, as time steals upon us, but more will adore ;
As roses scent sweetest when nearest to perish,
My passion more fragrant shall burn than before.