I heard a gentle maiden, in the spring, br Set her sweet sighs to music, and thus sing: br 'Fly through the world, and I will follow thee, br Only for looks that may turn back on me; br 'Only for roses that your chance may throw— br Though withered—Twill wear them on my brow, br To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain,— br Warm'd with such love, that they will bloom again.' br 'Thy love before thee, I must tread behind, br Kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind; br But trust not all her fondness, though it seem, br Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream.' br 'Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet; br But smiles betray, and music sings deceit; br And words speak false;—yet, if they welcome prove, br I'll be their echo, and repeat their love.' br 'Only if waken'd to sad truth, at last, br The bitterness to come, and sweetness past; br When thou art vext, then turn again, and see br Thou hast loved Hope, but Memory loved thee.