Psyche

Love came to me one morn in May,
Bringing all glad things on his way,
" Lo, here are Autumn and Summer and Spring,
All three seasons in one I bring. "
He spake me smooth,
And he sware for sooth,
That his gold was good, and his troth was truth.
Alack, the day!
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
Man sows in vain what he reaps with pain,
And the joy once gone shall be never again
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
'Tis ever thus
Love deals with us;
Builds his bower for to-day, and then flies away
To-morrow.

I gave him all in my garden's girth,
Myrrh and spices and balms of worth —
My side was the couch wherein he sank,
My heart the warm cup whence he drank.
Where the basil grows,
I culled the rose,
And wrapped him in myrtle-shadows close.
Alack, the day!
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
Man sows in vain what he reaps in pain,
And the joy once gone shall be never again,
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
'Tis ever thus
Love deals with us;
Builds his bower for a day, and then flies away
To-morrow.

I woke one morn at the end of May,
And Love rose up and went his way,
And all the guerdon I can win
For the love I laid at his feet, has been
A handful of rue
Wet with grief's dew
And sad-eyed pansies, just a few.
Alack, the day!
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
Man sows in vain what he reaps in pain,
And the joy once gone shall be never again.
Heigho, Sing Sorrow!
'Tis ever thus
Love deals with us;
Builds his bower for a day, and then flies away

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