Our Thrones Decay

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.