Thou art not false, but thou art fickle, <br />To those thyself so fondly sought; <br />The tears that thou hast forced to trickle <br />Are doubly bitter from that thought: <br />'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest <br />Too well thou lov'st - too soon thou leavest. <br /> <br />The wholly false the heart despises, <br />And spurns deceiver and deceit; <br />But she who not a thought disguises, <br />Whose love is as sincere as sweet, <br />When she can change who loved so truly, <br />It feels what mine has felt so newly. <br /> <br />To dream of joy and wake to sorrow <br />Is doom'd to all who love or live; <br />And if, when conscious on the morrow, <br />We scarce our fancy can forgive, <br />That cheated us in slumber only, <br />To leave the waking soul more lonely, <br /> <br />What must they feel whom no false vision, <br />But truest, tenderest passion warm'd? <br />Sincere, but swift in sad transition; <br />As if a dream alone had charm'd? <br />Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming, <br />And all thy change can be but dreaming!<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thou-art-not-false-but-thou-art-fickle/
