Oh never weep for love that’s dead Since love is seldom true But changes his fashion from blue to red, From brightest red to blue, And love was born to an early death And is so seldom true.
Then harbour no smile on your bonny face To win the deepest sigh. The fairest words on truest lips Pass on and surely die, And you will stand alone, my dear, When wintry winds draw nigh.
Sweet, never weep for what cannot be, For this God has not given. If the merest dream of love were true Then, sweet, we should be in heaven, And this is only earth, my dear, Where true love is not given.
"Elizabeth Siddall Plaiting her Hair" drawing by Dante Gabriel Rossetti