 | Metrical essays |  |
67
A LOVER'S LAST SONG.
I
To love—to be beloved—there's notA holier bliss young hearts attain;
But oh! that misery of lot,
To love—yet know we love in vain:
A fearful weight is on the brain—
A gloom—of human ills the worst—
Oh, I have known such madd'ning pain,
As made me wish my heart could burst!
68
II
In the young summer of my yearsMy sun of hope hath darkly set;
Still 'mid this agony of tears
I would not we had never met;
In shame, I own I love thee yet:
Condemn me not—nor mock my doom—
For hearts that know not to forget
God's mercy hath prepared a tomb!
| Metrical essays | |