To You, Love (Alice Kipling Fleming, 1884)
Our days were glad and bright, Love,
The sun shone clear on high;
When first our troth was plight, Love,
No cloud was in the sky.
But now the day is night, Love,
And bitter grief is nigh.
Ah! had you been true, Love,
When all my heart was thine,
You would not seek a new Love,
The sun would ever shine.
Alas! Alas! for you, Love,
My constant heart must pine!
Ah! Life was good to live, Love,
When Loe 'twixt us twain,
And all the heavens could give, Love,
Was showered down like rain;
But water in a sieve, Love,
Is little, little gain.