VI. Why should I grieve for this? —O I must yearn, Whilst Time, conspirator with Memory, Keeps his cold ashes in an ancient urn, Richly emboss'd with childhood's revelry, With leaves and cluster'd fruits, and flow'rs eterne, (Eternal to the world, though not to me,) Aye there will those brave sports and blossoms be, The deathless wreath, and undecay'd festoon, When I am hears'd within, Less than the pallid primrose to the Moon, VII. So let it be: Before I liv'd to sigh, ΤΟ WELCOME, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow; : The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine : Here are red roses, gather'd at thy cheeks, Dost love sweet Hyacinth? Its scented leaf Curls manifold, all love's delights blow double: 'Tis said this flow'ret is inscribed with grief, But let that hint of a forgotten trouble. I pluck'd the Primrose at night's dewy noon; These golden Buttercups are April's seal, Here's Daisies for the morn, Primrose for gloom, Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours: A wight once made a dial of their bloom, So may thy life be measur'd out by flow'rs! THE FORSAKEN. THE dead are in their silent graves, And the dew is cold above, And the living weep and sigh, Over dust that once was love. Once I only wept the dead, But now the living cause my pain: How couldst thou steal me from my tears, To leave me to my tears again ? My Mother rests beneath the sod, Her rest is calm and very deep : I wish'd that she could see our loves, But now I gladden in her sleep. |