False though She Be to Me and Love

  by: William Congreve (1670-1729)

False though she be to me and Love,
I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore the change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met;
They could not always last;
And though the present I regret,
I'm grateful for the past.

   More poems by William Congreve