&/\&/\&

I.

They say that Hope is happiness;

But genuine Love must prize the past,

And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:

They rose the first --- they set the last;
 

II.

And all that Memory loves the most

Was once our only Hope to be,

And all that Hope adored and lost

Hath melted into Memory.
 

III.

Alas !   it is delusion all:

The future cheats us from afar,

Nor can we be what we recall,

Nor dare we think on what we are.

&/\&/\&