Part 6

Oh! lay aside thy pen, since thou must sing Forever in a mournful minor key, And let the world thy disappointment see, And hear the death-knell of thy spirit ring. Why write of love, since love thou canst not bring Within thy craving heart, that still must be Unsatisfied? Why on thy bended knee Beg life from some cold, adamantine thing? Yet at this final moment, more than e’er, Dost thou seem near to me, dear heart, and more Than when first found, dost thou seem sweet and fair, And of my love possess a greater store! Then though my voice be still, and dead the air, In silence must I thy dear self adore.

CXXVIII

The Wounded Eros fell upon the ground, His bow and quiver lying at his side; The one destroyed, the other but half tried. An arrow, aimed at man, its way had found Beneath the child’s soft flesh; and with a sound At once both sweet and sad, he sank and cried In pain to Venus, beauty’s queen and bride, As she descended from the heavenly mound. So with mankind: Love, wounded, may be seen, Felled by his own swift shaft, that poison brings, Instead of peace or gladness, to his heart. Filled with the vision of what might have been, He treasures still the very thought that clings, Like sable night, though from it he would part.

_O thou, fair one, who never shalt be known,_ _Though ages cover thy frail bones with dust,_ _And time displace the greed of worldly lust;_ _Thou, whose gay spirit to my heart hath shown_ _How great love may become when once full-grown:_ _Thou, who hast been the fullness of my trust_ _In all things born of love’s fierce fire,--and must,_ _Perforce, hold o’er thy head love’s magic crown:_ _Take all I have. I lay it at thy feet._ _Poor though it be, ’tis thine. O ask not why!_ _Within these lines both joy and sorrow greet_ _The lenient friend, who hath not passed them by._ _And may those lovers, who have found love sweet,_ _Judge both our hearts when in the grave we lie._