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Love Was True to Me

Love was true to me,
True and tender;
I who ought to be
Love's defender,
Let the cold winds blow
Till they chilled him;
Let the winds and snow
Shroud him-and I know
That I killed him.

Years he cried to me
To be kinder;
I was blind to see
And grew blinder,
Years with soft hands raised
Fondly reaching,
Wept and prayed and praised,
Still beseeching.

When he died I woke,
God! How lonely,
When the grey dawn broke
On one only.

Now beside Love's grave
I am kneeling;
All he sought and gave
I am feeling.

-John Boyle O'Reilly