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 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
40
Possess'd of thee, I ask no more below.
That constant love, which bless'd with genial rays
The bright and happy spring-time of our days,
Shall still dispel the clouds of woe and strife
From the full summer of progressive life.
The hand of Time may quench the ardent fire
Of rising passion, and of young desire;
But that pure flame esteem first taught to burn
Can only perish in the silent urn.
And when the last, the solemn hour draws near,
That bids us part from all that charm'd us here,
Then on our thoughts the heav'nly hope shall rise,
To meet in higher bliss, in better skies,
In those bright mansions of the just above,
Where all is Rapture, Innocence, and Love.
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |