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Rh As I raised the flowering branches that across my path would stray, Lo! I found amidst the blossoms at my feet Love sleeping lay. ‘Wake!’ I cried, ‘my soul would know thee. Stranger, wake! my heart is thine.’ At my call he woke and, rising, laid his burning hand in mine. ‘Thou art Love,’ I said, ‘and fairer than all things that God hath made; Joy itself must have an ending, Youth is only born to fade, And alone Love is immortal, faithful Love can never die— Death's dark gates for him are open. Death himself must let him by.’ Then my heart grew chill, for nigh me once again I heard that call: ‘On! on! Time can never linger; Death, the king, is end of all.’

So along the path we wandered, pausing oft for sweet caress, Till my heart felt overflowing with its wealth of happiness; But lo! on the path before us briars mingled with the moss,