Indulge no more
may we
In this sweet-bitter pastime:
The love-light shines the last time
Between you,
Dear, and me.
There shall
remain no trace
Of what so closely tied us,
And blank as ere love eyed us
Will be our
meeting-place.
The flowers and
thymy air,
Will they now miss our coming?
The dumbles thin their humming
To find we haunt
not there?
Though fervent
was our vow,
Though ruddily ran our pleasure,
Bliss has fulfilled its measure,
And sees its sentence now.
Ache deep; but
make no moans:
Smile out; but stilly suffer:
The paths of love are rougher
Than
thoroughfares of stones.
