No! My heart! She not sure of love

She not sure of love,
And love was never sure.
Today she loves but what of tomorrow,
These would be days full of sorrow.

Neither me, nor she knows of time,
Who will sing and who will rhyme.
O! You feeble human heart,
So low and frugal, frod.

And love would grow fretful,
With lips but half regretful.
Then will reside, the love so poor,
She sighs with heart forgetful.

Wails that no love endure,
No my heart! She not so sure.