The writings of James Russell Lowell in ten volumes |
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WITH A COPY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE |
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The writings of James Russell Lowell | ||
WITH A COPY OF AUCASSIN AND NICOLETE
Leaves fit to have been poor Juliet's cradle-rhyme,With gladness of a heart long quenched in mould
They vibrate still, a nest not yet grown cold
From its fledged burthen. The numb hand of Time
Vainly his glass turns; here is endless prime;
Here lips their roses keep and locks their gold;
Here Love in pristine innocency bold
Speaks what our grosser conscience makes a crime.
Because it tells the dream that all have known
Once in their lives, and to life's end the few;
Because its seeds o'er Memory's desert blown
Spring up in heartsease such as Eden knew;
Because it hath a beauty all its own,
Dear Friend, I plucked this herb of grace for you.
The writings of James Russell Lowell | ||