Page:Findens' Tableaux 1837.pdf/6

26

In the presence of its wonders She hath held her breath; For the first time she hath blended Thoughts of love and death.

But there comes a dream more tender To the maiden's brow, All the lip in rosy silence Never may avow. Does she think how first, when watching For her lover's feet? Did the tent's loose canvas waving Bid that young heart beat?

Time will still that quick, sweet beating;— Cold and cruel power! Nothing life can bring us after Will be like that hour. Soon, thou beautiful Arabian, Will such dream be done; Other hopes have many moments— Love has only one. L. E. L.