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No need to quiet her kind fears—
She did not ask the reason why.
The hallow'd memory of those years
Comes o'er me in these lonely hours,
And, with sweet loveliness, appears
As perfume of strange summer flowers;
Of flowers which we have known before
In infancy, which seen, recall
To mind—not flowers alone—but more,
Our earthly life, and love—and all.
Yes! she was worthy of all love!
Even such as from the accursed time
My spirit with the tempest strove,
When on the mountain peak alone,
Ambition lent it a new tone,
And bade it first to dream of crime,
My frenzy to her bosom taught:
We still were young: no purer thought
Dwelt in a seraph's breast than thine;(3)
For passionate love is still divine:
I loved her as an angel might
With ray of the all living light
Which blazes upon Edis' shrine.(4)
It is not surely sin to name,
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