III

Look, this little golden Heart
Was a true-love shrine
For a tress of hair; I held them,
Heart and tress, as mine,
Like the Love which gave the token
See to-day the Heart is broken!

Broken is the golden heart,
Lost the tress of hair;
Ah, the shrine is empty, vacant,
Desolate, and bare!
So the token should depart,
When Love dies within the heart.

Fast and deep the river floweth,
Floweth to the west;
I will cast the golden trinket
In its cold dark breast,--
Flow, oh river, deep and fast,
Over all the buried past!