Love not the world; around its form And even friendship's kindest words, Are oft in mockery sung; The heart that once its tale of love, Love not the world; its boasted joys Its peace is strife, its pleasure pain, A storm succeeds the morn which broke And disappointment withers all That once was fair and bright. Love not the world; its fairest flowers Are sure to droop and die ; And hope's bright bowers, by fancy reared, Will soon in ruin lie; The friends who now around us move, The faithful and the true, Will soon extend the parting hand, And speak the sad adieu. |