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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - They Shall Not Know
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When thou art happy, thou dear heart of pleasure,
 Because men love thee and the feasts are spread,
 And Fortune in thy lap has poured her treasure,
 And Spring is there and roses crown thy head,
 Then think of one who loved thee for his woe,
 And, if thou sigh
 With others by,
 They shall not know.

 When thou art silent in thy day of trouble,
 Because fools vex and thou hast rivals found
 And love has played thee falser than a bubble
 And memory stings and grief is as a wound,
 Then think of one whose hand first soothed thy brow,
 And, if a smile
 Thy tears beguile,
 These shall not know.

 When all is ended, thou pale ghost of sorrow,
 And time`s last flower is gathered from the grove,
 And yesterday to thee is as to--morrow
 And there is none to speak to thee of love,
 Then sing these songs one made thee long ago,
 And men shall swear
 Thou still art fair--
 Yet shall not know.
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