That rapturous hour with that dear maid
From memory’s page no time shall blot,
When, yielding to my kiss, she said,
“Oh, Theodore—Forget me not!”
Alas for love! alas for truth!
Alas for man’s uncertain lot!
Alas for all the hopes of youth
That fade like thee—Forget-me-not!
Alas for that one image fair,
With all my brightest dreams inwrought!
That walks beside me everywhere,
Still whispering—Forget-me-not!
Oh, Memory! thou art but a sigh
For friendships dead and loves forgot,
And many a cold and altered eye
That once did say—Forget-me-not!
And I must bow me to thy laws,
For—odd although it may be thought—
I can’t tell who the deuce it was
That gave me this Forget-me-not!
The Meeting.
Once I lay beside a fountain,
Lulled me with its gentle song,
And my thoughts o’er dale and mountain
With the clouds were borne along.
There I saw old castles flinging
Shadowy gleams on moveless seas,
Saw gigantic forests swinging
To and fro without a breeze;
And in dusky alleys straying,
Many a giant shape of power,
Troops of nymphs in sunshine playing,
Singing, dancing, hour on hour.
I, too, trod these plains Elysian,
Heard their ringing tones of mirth,
But a brighter, fairer vision
Called me back again to earth.