As Lone I Sat One Summer'S Day, With Mien Dejected, Love Came By; His Face Distraught, His Locks Astray, So Slow His Gait, So Sad His Eye, I Hailed Him With A Pitying Cry: "Pray, Love, What Has Disturbed Thee So?" Said I, Amazed. "Thou Seem'St Bereft; And See Thy Quiver Hanging Low,-- What, Not A Single Arrow Left? Pray, Who Is Guilty Of This Theft?" Poor Love Looked In My Face And Cried: "No Thief Were Ever Yet So Bold To Rob My Quiver At My Side. But Time, Who Rules, Gave Ear To Gold, And All My Goodly Shafts Are Sold."