Page:Myrtle and Myrrh.djvu/45



O, thou, who loved me once, From thy Pagoda glance; Shoot down a poisoned lance: All's well that comes from thee.

Look back, look down once more; Dear was to thee this shore; I see thee nevermore Beneath the olive tree.

Remains my station low, Whilst thou dost greater grow; Ah, fate hath struck the blow That parted thee and me.

How can I bear my fate, How can I loveless wait In this most sorry state, When thou art far and free?

Far from the soul that swore On love's abysmal door To cling forevermore To none on earth but thee;

Free from the sacred plight Which, to dispel the night, Thou madest, when I quite Fell near thy bended knee.

Dost thou not still remember Love's May and Love's December? Both burned their sacred ember In our sweet company.