Love

1Why is it said thou canst not live

2In a youthful breast and fair,

3Since thou eternal life canst give,

4Canst bloom for ever there?

5Since withering pain no power possessed,

6Nor age, to blanch thy vermeil hue,

7Nor time's dread victor, death, confessed,

8Though bathed with his poison dew,

9Still thou retain'st unchanging bloom,

10Fixed tranquil, even in the tomb.

11And oh! when on the blest, reviving,

12The day-star dawns of love,

13Each energy of soul surviving

14More vivid, soars above,

15Hast thou ne'er felt a rapturous thrill,

16Like June's warm breath, athwart thee fly,

17O'er each idea then to steal,

18When other passions die?

19Felt it in some wild noonday dream,

20When sitting by the lonely stream,

21Where Silence says, 'Mine is the dell';

22And not a murmur from the plain,

23And not an echo from the fell,

24Disputes her silent reign.