Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1833.pdf/5

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are the words, the burning words, I used to breathe long, long ago; My lute has lost its early tone, My lip forgot its early glow.

I sing no more as I have sung; My lute and love are separate now— 'Tis taken from its red-rose tree, And hung upon a darker bough.

But do not think that I can bid My first and dearest dream depart: Oh! love has only left my lip, To sink the deeper in my heart.

I cannot bear to sing of love: It seems like sacrilege to me, To let a cold and careless world Hear words which only are for thee. L. E. L.