Xvii

“Still on the anguish of a dying hope An infant hope was nourished; all in vain. For, at the last, although we parted friends, The friendship lay like sickness on my soul, That saw all gladness perish from the world With loss of thee; and, ’mid the future years, Love building high a sepulchre for hope.

Ah, could you learn forgetfulness, And teach my heart how to forget; And I unlearn all fretfulness, And teach your soul that still will fret; The mornings of the world would burn Before us and we would not turn, For we would not regret.

Did you but know what sorrow keeps, That drives the joy of life away, And I what each to-morrow keeps For us until it is to-day; No grief or change would then surprise Our lives with what our lives were wise, And nothing could betray.

If you could be interior to My dreams that are all love’s desire; And I could be superior to Myself and such in you inspire; Long stairways would the years unroll To lift us upward, soul to soul, To what celestial fire!