WHEN the day is brightest,
Darkness draweth near;
When the heart is lightest,
Coming grief I fear.

Eyes of heavenly splendour,
Radiance o'er me fling;
But when their light's most tender
I fear its vanishing.

Lips, where passion keepeth
Holiest incense, bend to mine;
But when woman speaketh,
Who would trust so false a shrine?

Even in twined caresses
Where love has woven his spells,
Of the mutual love that blesses,
I hear a voice which tells.

As light with darkness weddeth,
So must pleasure with annoy,
And sorrow ever treadeth
On the doomed path of joy.