ET not our lips pronounce the word Farewell Nor deem that distance can make cold the heart! Though I should look through sorrow's dim eclipse, And print warm partings on the loved one's lips— To speak the last sad word my tongue were dumb; Or, if it syllabled my soul's emotion, 'Twould be to tell how pilgrim steps have come To worship at the shrine of love's devotion! So be the language of despair unspoken By those whose hearts, nor time, nor space can sever— A fountain seal'd till hope be lost for ever, And only gushing when the heart is broken. JAMES HEDDERWICK. WOULD not have this perfect love of ours It should grow alway like that eastern tree Whose limbs take root and spread forth constantly; That love for one, from which there doth not spring Wide love for all, is but a worthless thing. Not in another world, as poets prate, Dwell we apart above the tide of things, High floating o'er earth's clouds our faëry wings: All earthly things, making them pure and good. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. UR love is not a fading, earthly flower: Its winged seed dropped down from Paradise, And, nursed by day and night, by sun and shower, Doth momently to fresher beauty rise: To us the leafless autumn is not bare, And makes the body's dark and narrow grate JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. AFTER DEATH. HE curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept Where through the lattice ivy-shadows crept. And could not hear him; but I heard him say: Or ruffle the smooth pillows for my head: He did not love me living; but once dead He pitied me; and very sweet it is To know he still is warm, though I am cold. CHRISTINA ROSSETTI. LOVE, TIME, AND DEATH. 3H me, dread friends of mine,-Love, Time, and Death: Sweet Love, who came to me on sheeny wing, And gave her to my arms-her lips, her breath, And all her golden ringlets clustering: And Time, who gathers in the flying years, He gave me all, but where is all he gave? Oh, gently lead me thro' thy narrow door, FREDERICK LOCKER. |