“Always I’ll love you!” Then you sigh: With foolish white-faced misery And tell me tales of loves that die. You say: “I’m weary of the lie That lovers call eternity Giving to love an alibi.” But ’tis most wanton to despise The old-established verities, That grant illusions to the wise. In the tired darkness of your eyes I’ve found my chosen paradise; And if they lie—God give me lies! My darling, what a goose you are To plant a doubt in every star.