William wetmore story

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On the broken stem of dreamsOnly disappointments grow.
Those black eyes I once so praisedNow are hard and sharp and cold;Where's the love that through them blazed?Where's the tenderness of old?
When, full of warm and eager love,I clasp you in my fond embrace,You gently push me back and say,"Take care, my dear, you'll spoil my lace."
Give me the old enthusiasms back,Give me the ardent longings that I lack, --The glorious dreams that fooled me in my youth,The sweet mirage that lured me on its track. . . .
Aren't we at the stage these days when it just doesn't ... matter? It's a story of love and it's a story between two people. If people can't get over that and just accept it as a story, then that's their problem. I'm big enough and brave enough to do it.