When fairer faces turn from me,And gayer friends grow cold,And I have lost through povertyThe friendship bought, with gold;When I have served the selfish turnOf some all-worldly few,And Folly’s lamps have ceased to burn,Then I’ll come back to you.
When my admirers find I’m notThe rising star they thought,And praise or blame is all forgotMy early promise brought;When brighter rivals lead a hostWhere once I led a few,And kinder times reward their boast,Then I’ll come back to you.
You loved me, not for what I hadOr what I might have been.You saw the good, but not the bad,Was kind, for that between.I know that you’ll forgive again—That you will judge me true;I’ll be too tired to explainWhen I come back to you.