There is no fate that
Binds us in our steps,
One to the other,
Caught fast amid the folly
That we spent;
For what, I ask, was folly
In the love for you I lent?

There is no end to
You, or me, for me, or you,
One for the other,
Though years may wheel and turn
To fade at last,
A long light dimly burns;
But flares and flames despairing
At its dying gasp.

No… there is no fate
To bind us in our steps,
One to the other,
No fate or fortune which decrees
This harmony;
Only the wind, playing softly on
The reeds of distant memory.

David Lewis Paget