O! love to me is but a season – Seldom does it overstay, And tho' I pain to seek a reason, Like the dream, it fades away To leave me once again in awe Of how the heart can render raw In loss of love; but then to soar Atop anew! – and hail adieu! To her who fled from chance I gave To see us wed: Then on, To court another fairer face – And lose again in end of chase! I curse the seasons evermore – They tease me thro' their metaphor: Starting fresh, their vigour young, Yet oversoon, the ditty sung.