'Twas when the leaves were yellow turn'd,
Selina, with the gentlest sigh,
Exclaim'd, 'For you I long have burn'd,
For you alone, my love! I'll die.'

Unthinking youth! I thought her true,
And, when the trees grew white with snow,
The wint'ry wind with music blew,
So did her love upon me grow.

The Spring had scarce unlock'd her store,
When lo! in much ungentle strain,
She bade me think of her no more,
She bade me never love again.

Then did my heart at once reply,
'If you are false, who can be true?
There's nothing here deserves a sigh,
Take this, the last, 'tis heav'd for you.'

Ah! fickle fair! amid the scene
That giddy pleasure may prepare,
A pensive thought shall intervene,
And touch your wand'ring heart with care.

And when, alone, at eve you rove,
Where arm in arm we oft have mov'd,
Each Zephyr in the well-known grove
Shall whisper that we once have lov'd.