With all its best of sense and wit Each Album's earlier leaves are writ; No page—but Love and Friendship on it Shower dainty prose and perfumed sonnet; While not one troubling thought comes nigh Of future dearth and vacancy. Yet blight, e'en now, is on the wing To nip that vernal blossoming; His tribute flowers Wit fails to yield, Sense, worldly grown, seeks wider field; E'en Love and Friendship cease to write, And half the book is idle white.
Turn, Emblem-seeker, turn and look, Thou'lt find a moral in the book. Though young, its lot may soon be thine; Searce old, long since I've found it mine. Youth's early loves, like vapour, fled; Its friendships—with the cold—the dead,— The lofty hopes by manhood cherished In disappointment plunged and perished; Year after year they struggled—sank— Then left my life this Album's blank.