Which round them dwells, but parts them not, A lorn, but undivided lot. Can death dissever love, or part The loved one from the lover's heart? Making it purer, holier seem, As the ice closing o'er the stream Keeps, while storms ravage earth and air, HENRY NEELE. THE LOCK. LITTLE curl, I love thee more But thy future place of rest What the rosebud's to the bee, JOSEPH MIDDLETON. MEET ME AT SUNSET. MEET me at sunset, the hour we love best, Ere day's last crimson blushes have died in the west, When the shadowless ether is blue as thine eye, And the breeze is as balmy and soft as thy sigh; D When giant-like forms lengthen fast o'er the ground From the motionless mill and the linden trees round; When the stillness below, the mild radiance above, Softly sink on the heart and attune it to love. Meet me at sunset-oh! meet me once more, 'Neath the wide-spreading thorn where you met me of yore, When our hearts were as calm as the broad summer sea That lay gleaming before us, bright, boundless, and free; And with hand clasp'd in hand, we sat trance-bound and deem'd That life would be ever the thing it then Meet me at sunset, beloved! as of old,When the boughs of the chestnut are waving in gold; When the pure starry clematis bends with its bloom, And the jasmine exhales a more witching perfume. That sweet hour shall atone for the anguish of years, And though fortune still frown, bid us smile through our tears; Through the storms of the future shall soothe and sustain; Then meet me at sunset-oh! meet me again! A. A. WATTS. LIKE a rose, when May Breathes o'er its bending bloom, she seem'd to shrink Into her modest self, and a low sigh Shook blushes (sweet rose leaves!) from her beauty. BULWER. RUTH. SHE stood breast high amid the corn, On her cheek an autumn flush, Round her eyes her tresses fell, And her hat, with shady brim, Sure, I said, Heav'n did not mean, Share my harvest and my home. HOOD. |