Poems of Gustavo Adolfo Becquer LXI

^{Translated from the Spanish by Mason Carnes}

The miser guards his hoard; so guarded I
       My grief; I wished to prove
That there existed something infinite
To her who swore to me eternal love.

To-day I call on it in vain; I hear
       Time, who destroyed it, say,  
You are not able e’en to suffer pain
Eternally, poor miserable clay!