I said my pleasure shall not move;
It is not fixed in things apart:
Seeking not love -- but yet to love -- 
I put my trust in mine own heart.
 
I knew the fountain of the deep
Wells up with living joy, unfed:
Such joys the lonely heart may keep,
And love grow rich with love unwed.
 
Still flows the ancient fount sublime; -- 
But, ah, for my heart, shed tears, shed tears;
Not it, but love, has scorn of time,
It turns to dust beneath the years.