False though She be
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 her 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.

Read more about William Congreve at Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Is it possible
to win back
a lost love?