XXIII.

Two strong streams of a land must run Together surely as the sun Succeeds the moon. Who shall gainsay The fates that reign, that wisely reign? Love is, love was, shall be again. Like death, inevitable it is; Perchance, like death, the dawn of bliss. Let us, then, love the perfect day, The twelve o'clock of life, and stop The two hands pointing to the top, And hold them tightly while we may.