From deeper founts than Time shall e'er destroy,
All spoke to thee in Summer's rich caress,
Even so my heart, though wordless too, could bless:
It could but feel a joy to know thy joy.
Letter II.—After Death's Mockery
When Death from out the dark, by one blind blow,
Strikes down Love's heart of hearts—severs a life—
Cleaves it in twain as by a sudden knife,
Leaving the dreadful Present, dumb with woe,
Mocked by a Past whose rainbow-skies aglow
O'erarch Love s bowers where all his flowers seem rife
In bloom of one sweet loving girl and wife—
Then Friendship s voice must whisper, whisper low.
Though well I know 'tis thou who dost inherit
Heroic blood and faith that lends the spirit
Strength known to souls like thine of noblest strain,
Comfort I dare not proffer. What relief
Shall Friendship proffer Love in such wild grief?
I can but suffer pain to know thy pain:
I can but suffer pain; and yet to me
Returns that day whose light seemed heavenly light,
Whose breath seemed incense rising to unite
That lawn—where every flower, and bird and bee
