Regret

IV. 76.

Not ye regret I, of spring my years,

In dreams gone by of hopeless love;

Not ye regret I, O mysteries of nights.

By songstress passionate celebrated;

Not ye, regret I, O my faithless friends

Nor crowns of feasts, nor cups of circle,

Nor ye regret I, O traitresses young--

To pleasures melancholy stranger am I.

But where are ye, O moments tender

Of young my hopes, of heartfelt peace?

The former heat and grace of inspiration?

Come again, O ye, of spring my years!