Page:Gilbert Original Plays.djvu/25

Rh Men live—and live—and seem to like to live!
 * Dar. How strangely inconsistent!
 * Sel. Not at all.

With all their misery, with all their sin, With all the elements of wretchedness That teem on that unholy world of theirs, They have one great and ever glorious gift, That compensates for all they have to bear— The gift of Love! Not as we use the word, To signify mere tranquil brotherhood; But in some sense that is unknown to us. Their love bears like relation to our own, That the fierce beauty of the noonday sun Bears to the calm of a soft summer's eve. It nerves the wearied mortal with hot life, And bathes his soul in hazy happiness. The richest man is poor who hath it not. And he who hath it laughs at poverty. It hath no conqueror. When death himself Has worked his very worst, this love of theirs Lives still upon the loved one's memory. It is a strange enchantment, which invests The most unlovely things with loveliness. The maiden, fascinated by this spell, Sees every thing as she would have it be: Her squalid cot becomes a princely home; Its stunted shrubs are groves of stately elms; The weedy brook that trickles past her door Is a broad river fringed with drooping trees;