Sighing for the love you scorned, recalling it with sorrow.
Live, O live and love to-day; delay not till the morrow:
Gather now the roses of youth and desire.
From the French of Ronsard
Song
How did we dim that wistful dream,
That shy first love without caress,
That breathless wonder, that supreme
Vision of all love's loveliness?
For surely had we parted then,
Kissed once with tears and said Good-bye,
We had been speaking truly when
We said our love could never die.
Because we did a moment cling,
With trembling senses cling and kiss—
Does it not seem a bitter thing
That bliss should die of too much bliss?
Love is a fair and fragile flower
Which Youth must needs, poor foolish boy,
Pluck greedily....Within the hour
He weeps to see his withered joy.