Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Infidelity

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Infidelity.
Thou who scornest truth divine,
Say what joy, what hope is thine?
Is this world from sorrow free?
Is this world enough for thee?
No; for care corrodes thy heart.
Art thou willing to depart?
No; thy nature bids thee shrink
From the void abyss's brink.
Thou may'st laugh, in broad sunshine;
Scoff, when sparkles the red wine;
Thou must tremble, when deep night
Shuts the pageant from thy sight.
Morning comes, and thou blasphemest;
Yet another day thou deemest
Thine; but soon its light will wane;
Then thy warning comes again.
There's a morrow with no night—
Broad and blazing, endless light!
Should its dawn thy dreams o'ertake,
Better thou didst never wake.

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