Classic Poem

Alas! if she be false to me
It is for her alone I weep!
'Tis that in coming years I see
Her suffering from such frailty
Than mine , oh, far more deep!

So tender, yet so false withal,
So proud, and yet so frail,
Responding to each flatterer's call,
Loving, yet often blind to all
Of love that could not fail —
Oh who will watch her wayward soul,
Who minister when I am gone,
Who point her spirit to its goal,
Who with unwearying love console
That truth-abandon'd one?