The Triumph of Love By Edmond Holmes |
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 | The Triumph of Love |  |
XIII
Some happy lovers are afire with hope,With dreams of rapture, visions of delight:
Their cloudless azure knows no westward slope,
Their day no dark foreboding of the night.
Some hapless lovers, when their dreams are o'er,
When hope expires o'er-surfeited with bliss,
Think that the day of love will dawn no more,
And sound the lowest depth of night's abyss.
But I who dream not of what may not be,
Who turn from hope as others turn from shame,
Find in despair a deeper ecstasy,
And burn with frost as others burn with flame.
For love, when stabbed by Fate's relentless knife,
Draws from each death-wound a new fount of life.
| The Triumph of Love | |