Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/64

36 I would that when we are no more, dear heart,

The world might hold thy unforgotten name

Inviolate in these eternal rhymes.

I would have poets say: "Let not the art

Wherewith they loved be lost! To us the blame

Should love grow less in these our modern times."

XIV—WEAL AND WOE

XV—"O, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD"

is not a summer mood,

Nor flying phantom of the brain,

Nor youthful fever of the blood,

Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance.

Love is not born of blinded chance,

Nor bred in simple ignorance.