University of Virginia Library

IX.

And such her early love had given
To win him from the world to heaven—
A deep Promethean agony,
Whose bright delirium warmed her heart!
And worked upon each bitter sigh,
Till every string was torn apart!
In conquering life's autumnal woes,
The heart gets older than the head—
The mind may war with beauty's blows,
When every thrill lies cold and dead!
The boundless mind may widely range,
But hearts, once broken, never change,
But fettered fast, must, beating still,
Be made the brunt of every ill!
Till too much sorrow, in the calm
Of suffering, brings its own soft balm.
For passing life can never prove
The real worth of by-gone love,
Though fraught with unrequited grief,
And pangs that cannot find relief.
Yet, thinking we may be again,
And how much better could have been,
Will sometimes cancel deep distress,
And charm away life's bitterness;
Till walking Death's unlighted shore,
We feel that we shall be no more,
Beneath those dark, accustomed shades,
Beyond which this existence fades,
Till borne to sweeter climes above
By God's all-righteous dove.