When Poor in All But Hope and Love
WHEN, poor in all but hope and love,
I clasped thee to my faithful heart;
For wealth and fame I vowed to rove,
That we might meet no more to part!
Years have gone by-long weary years
Of toil, to win thee comfort now–
Of ardent hopes—of sickening fears—
And wealth is mine-but where art thou?
Fame’s dazzling dreams, for thy dear sake,
Rose brighter than before to me;
I clung to all I deemed could make
My burning heart more worthy thee.
Years have gone by-the laurel droops
In mockery o’er my joyless brow:
A conquered world before me stoops,
And Fame is mine-but where art thou?
In life’s first hours, despised and lone,
I wandered through the busy crowd;
But now that life’s best hopes are gone,
They greet with pride and murmurs loud.
Oh! for thy voice! thy happy voice,
To breathe its laughing welcome now;
Wealth, fame, and all that should rejoice,
To me are vain-for where art thou?
