Written In A Lady's Album

Grant me, I cried, some spell of art, To turn with all a lover's care, That spotless page, my Eva's heart, And write my burning wishes there. But Love, by faithless Laia taught How frail is woman's holiest vow, Look'd down, while grace attempered thought Sate serious on his baby brow. "Go! blot her album," cried the sage, "There none but bards a place may claim; But woman's heart's a worthless page, Where every fool may write his name." Until by time or fate decayed, That line and leaf shall never part; Ah! who can tell how soon shall fade The lines of love from woman's heart.