Was blighted, and the springs of hope were dried,
Received her summons hence; and had no time,
Bearing the canker at th’ impatient heart,
To wither; sorrowing for that gift of heaven,
Which lent one moment of existence light
That dimm’d the rest for ever!
Elm. How is this?
My child, what mean’st thou?
Xim. Mother! I have loved,
And been beloved! The sunbeam of an hour,