Th’ unbroken heart’s first fragrance unto heaven.
THE HOUR OF DEATH.
“Il est dans la Nature d’aimer à se livrer à l’idée même qu’on redoute.”—Corinne.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north wind’s breath,
And stars to set—but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Day is for mortal care,
Eve, for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer—