I marked her ruined hues,
     Her custom-straitened views,
     And asked, "Can there indwell
        My Amabel?"

     I looked upon her gown,
     Once rose, now earthen brown;
     The change was like the knell
        Of Amabel.

     Her step's mechanic ways
     Had lost the life of May's;
     Her laugh, once sweet in swell,
        Spoilt Amabel.

     I mused: "Who sings the strain
     I sang ere warmth did wane?
     Who thinks its numbers spell
        His Amabel?"--

     Knowing that, though Love cease,
     Love's race shows undecrease;
     All find in dorp or dell
        An Amabel.

     --I felt that I could creep
     To some housetop, and weep,
     That Time the tyrant fell
        Ruled Amabel!

     I said (the while I sighed
     That love like ours had died),
     "Fond things I'll no more tell
        To Amabel,

     "But leave her to her fate,
     And fling across the gate,
     'Till the Last Trump, farewell,
        O Amabel!'"