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If loving thee still more and more,

And still so willing to be blind,
I should the bitter knowledge find,
That Time had eaten out the core
Of love, and left the empty rind;

If the poor lifeless words, at last,
(The soul gone, that was once so sweet,)
Should cease my eager heart to cheat,
And crumble back into the past,

And show the whole a vain deceit ;

If I should see thee turn away,

And know that prayer, and time, and pain, Could no more thy lost love regain, Than bid the hours of dying day

Gleam in their mid-day noon again.

If I should loose thy hand, and know
That henceforth we must dwell apart,
Since I had seen thy love depart,
And only count the hours flow

By the dull throbbing of my heart.

If I should gaze and gaze in vain

Into thine eyes so deep and clear,

And read the truth of all my
Half mixed with pity for my pain,
And sorrow for the vanished year.

If not to grieve thee overmuch,
I strove to counterfeit disdain,
And weave me a new life again,
Which thy life could not mar, or touch,
And so smile down my bitter pain.

The ghost of my dead Past would rise
And mock me, and I could not dare
Look to a future of despair,

Or even to the eternal skies,

For I should still be lonely there.

All Truth, all Honour, then would seem
Vain clouds, which the first wind blew by;

All Trust, a folly doomed to die;

All Life, a useless empty dream;

All Love-since thine had failed-a lie.

But see, thy tender smile has cast

My fear away this thought of mine Is treason to my Love and thine; For Love is Life, and Death at last Crowns it eternal and divine!


S strangers, you and I are here;
We both as aliens stand,

Where once, in years gone by, I dwelt

No stranger in the land.

Then while you gaze on park and stream,

Let me remain apart,

And listen to the awakened sound

Of voices in my heart!

Here, where upon the velvet lawn

The cedar spreads its shade,

And by the flower-beds all around,
Bright roses bloom and fade;
Shrill merry childish laughter rings,
And baby voices sweet,

And by me, on the path, I hear

The tread of little feet.

Down the dark avenue of limes,
Whose perfume loads the air,
Whose boughs are rustling overhead,
(For the west wind is there,)
I hear the sound of earnest talk,
Warnings and counsels wise,

And the quick questioning that brought

Such gentle calm replies.

Still the light bridge hangs o'er the lake,

Where broad-leaved lilies lie,

And the cool water shows again

The cloud that moves on high;—

And one voice speaks, in tones I thought The past for ever kept;

But now I know, deep in my heart
Its echoes only slept!

I hear, within the shady porch
Once more, the measured sound
Of the old ballads that were read,
While we sat listening round;
The starry passion-flower still
Up the green trellice climbs;
The tendrils waving seem to keep
The cadence of the rhymes.

I might have striven, and striven in vain,

Such visions to recall,

Well known and yet forgotten; now
I see, I hear, them all!

The Present pales before the Past,
Who comes with angel wings;

As in a dream I stand, amidst
Strange yet familiar things!

Enough, so let us go, mine eyes
Are blinded by their tears;

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