Amabel

    I marked her ruined hues,
    Her custom-straitened views,
    And asked, “Can there indwell
                My Amabel?”

    I looked upon her gown,
    Once rose, now earthen brown;
    The change was like the knell
                Of Amabel.

    Her step’s mechanic ways
    Had lost the life of May’s;
    Her laugh, once sweet in swell,
                Spoilt Amabel.

    I mused: “Who sings the strain
    I sang ere warmth did wane?
    Who thinks its numbers spell
                His Amabel?”—

    Knowing that, though Love cease,
    Love’s race shows undecrease;
    All find in dorp or dell
                An Amabel.

    —I felt that I could creep
    To some housetop, and weep,
    That Time the tyrant fell
                Ruled Amabel!

    I said (the while I sighed
    That love like ours had died),
    “Fond things I’ll no more tell
                To Amabel,

    “But leave her to her fate,
    And fling across the gate,
    ‘Till the Last Trump, farewell,
                O Amabel!'”