XCV. MEMORIES, THE FOOD OF LOVE. When shall we come to that delightful day, For who may deem the throne of love secure, Swelled by a thousand streams the deeps that float It needs an ocean for the argosy. The heart's religion keeps, apart from time, Of dreamy Sabbath bells from distant towers. Oft dost thou ask me, with that bashful eye, Feasting as fondly on the sure reply, As if my lips were virgin of the vow. Sweet does that question, Wilt thou love me?' fall Upon the heart that has forsworn its will: But when the words hereafter we recall, 'Dost thou remember?' shall be sweeter still. Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. XCVI. What time the mighty moon was gathering light And all about him rolled his lustrous eyes; Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, And talking to himself, first met his sight: "You must begone," said Death, "these walks are mine." Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight; Yet ere he parted said, "This hour is thine: Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath, Life eminent creates the shade of death; The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall, But I shall reign for ever over all." A. Tennyson. XCVII. I would we had not met again! Lovely, tho' sad, on desert plain, What though it haunted me by night It touched all things with spirit-light, Oh! what shall now my faith restore We met-I saw thy soul once more- Yes! it was sad on desert-plain, Yet would I buy with life again That one deep dream of thee! Mrs. Hemans. XCVIII. When we two parted In silence and tears, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Truly that hour foretold The dew of the morning And share in its shame. They name thee before me, In secret we met In silence I grieve, After long years, How should I greet thee?- Lord Byron. XCIX. They met but once, in youth's sweet hour, Hath absence, time, or grief had power They've seen the suns of other skies, Sweet dream of youth! oh, ne'er again They left so smooth and smiling then, For, Youth, the spell was only thine; From thee alone the enchantment flows, They met but once,-oh, ne'er again They left so smooth and smiling then, T. Moore. |