LXXVI.
FRIENDS TO FRIENDS.
—Medio de fonte leporum
Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat—
I
Dear Friends! when Memory's eyes are turn'd above,
And on the face of Heaven your faces form;
When telling o'er their wealth of garner'd love
Our world-chill'd spirits warm:
II
Why then should clouds the purple gladness shade:
What bitter drops the central fountain stain?
Why should Love's amaranthine fragrance fade;
This joy be dash'd with pain?
III
Your hearts, were ours but worthier to partake,
Their crowning treasures on Love's head would heap;
—But we have sad confession first to make,
And wastefulness to weep.
IV
There is a silence where the voice is loud—
There is a sadness when the heart is high:
An inner solitude amidst the crowd;
A smile that veils the sigh
V
When ill-timed jest has baulk'd some warning gaze,
Or arrowy wit pierced Love's incautious side:
And we too late would fain the scars eraze
We dealt in wanton pride.
VI
Or jealous fancy intervenes to part
When sweet confession on the lips was near;
When we would speak the message of the heart,
And love from question clear.
VII
And wild Caprice the purest hours has stain'd,
And coldness paled Affection's eager glow:
Our beggar souls your treasures have disdain'd;
Then wept our loss to know.
VIII
Ah sever'd souls—that meet and may not touch!
Ah foolish Love—that will not what he may!
—There is one hope for Hope: We have loved much,
And so forgiveness pray.
