When the flowers of life's sweet garden fade,
If but _one_ bright leaf remain,
Of the many that once its glory made,
It is not for us to complain.
But thus to meet and thus to wake
In all Love's early bliss;
Oh, Time all other gifts may take,
So he but leaves us this!
Then let joy alone be remembered now,
Let our sorrows go sleep awhile;
Or if thought's dark cloud come o'er the brow,
Let Love light it up with his smile!
LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE?
Love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, by yonder star I swear,
Which thro' tears above thee
Shines so sadly fair;
Tho' often dim,
With tears, like him,
Like him my truth will shine,
And--love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, till death I'm thine.
Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, that star is not more true;
When my vows deceive thee,
_He_ will wander too.
A cloud of night
May veil his light,
And death shall darken mine--
But--leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, till death I'm thine.
MY HEART AND LUTE.
I give thee all--I can no more--
Tho' poor the offering be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute could tell.
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