I dreamed of love and thought it sweet
And took the winter for the spring;
A maiden's charms won me to woo
Where beauty's blooms so thick did hing
That I from thence did fear no blast
To bid young hope's frail bud decay,
Till tenderest words met bitter scorn
And then I wished myself away—

But all too late; and such as she
Might well deceive the wisest mind,
For love sure ne'er met one before
So scornful bent, so seeming kind;
For fair as spring, as summer warm,
Her young blood it did seem to flow;
And yet her heart did prove so cold
Love's bud died there and could not blow.

Her face looks open as the day,
And in her lips and in her eyes
Smiles and goodwill do seem to play,
That are love's deaths in green disguise;
Her breasts peep from her kerchief folds
Like sunshine thro' a parting cloud,
And yet love finds within that bed
Naught but a dead and wintry shroud.

All hopes are gone that wished her mine;
And now her mind I prove and know
I'm glad—and yet methinks those hopes
That then did cheat did cheer me so
I almost wish I ne'er had sued,
But still hoped on and still believed;
For it were best to dream of joy
Than thus to wake and be deceived.

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