I would that I could cease
    To think, false Love, of thee—
I would I could forget
    All thou hast been to me.
Is it some fault of mine
    That has changed thine heart and eye?
And have I sinned 'gainst love or thee?
    Oh, how unconsciously!
If a fault, surely tears
    May wash the wrong away,
As showers melt the clouds
    That darken summer's day.
I would it were in me
    That cause of change were found,
Quickly it would be plucked
    Like a weed from the ground.
But, alas! too well I know
    What has made thy love depart—
'Tis thine own inconstant mood,
    And thine own changeful heart.
⁠L. E. L.