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Poem	As lone I sat one summer's day, With mien dejected, Love came by; His face distraught, his locks astray, So slow his gait, so sad his eye, I hailed him with a pitying cry: "Pray, Love, what has disturbed thee so?" Said I, amazed. "Thou seem'st bereft; And see thy quiver hanging low,— What, not a single arrow left? Pray, who is guilty of this theft?" Poor Love looked in my face and cried: "No thief were ever yet so bold To rob my quiver at my side. But Time, who rules, gave ear to Gold, And all my goodly shafts are sold."
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