‘I will come to-morrow morn’—
But that morn I never see,
While you laugh my faith to scorn,
Make a mock of me.

Still you feed me on delay
And to others give your smiles,
My true love with insults pay
And deceitful wiles.

‘In the evening I will come’—
Yes, at beauty's eventide—
When your cheeks have lost their bloom
And your youth its pride.