Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1825.pdf/48

47 Literary Gazette, 5th November, 1825, Page 716

My only Love, my early Love, My spirit turns to thee; Ah, wherefore is thy memory All that is left for me!

I would I had thy pictured traits;— Shadows of what they were, They could not be like thine, no art Could make them half so fair.

Yet, no, I could not bear to meet A smile like that of yore, And think its dear original Could smile on me no more.

How often have I watched those eyes, Filled with their own deep light, Their glorious beauty sad, but yet, As the heaven they gazed on, bright!

But I shall look on them no more; How could they close on me! Oh, Death, thou art thrice powerful, For Love must yield to thee.