In youth doth love the haven of peace elude,
O’erbearing its object with wanton, selfish cry,
Preferring tears for drink, despair for food,
Reveling in wretched fearful sigh.
Time doth pass, becomes now love the haven,
of peace and passion blending dreams the heart,
that monstrous fancy slowly tamed and graven
with modest wish to daily care impart.
When I with saddened eyes saw years march on,
Wronged by love, so wronging love in turn,
removed from love, the haven of peace I won,
asylum did seek, and from compassion turn.
But shrewdly did poor heart pretend to cease,
For now doth wake and love the haven of peace.