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The Epochs

On Petrarch's heart, all other days before,
In flaming letters written, was impress'd
Good F RIDAY . And on mine, be it confess'd,
Is this year's A DVENT , as it passeth o'er.

I dOnot now begin, — I still adore
Her whom I early cherish'd in my breast,
Then once again with prudence dispossess'd,
And to whose heart I'm driven back once more.

The love of Petrarch, that all-glorious love,
Was unrequited, and, alas, full sad;
One long Good Friday 'twas, one heartache drear;

But may my mistress' Advent ever prove,

Spring Night

Loving the spring evening alone, I step down to the garden,
a breeze, a soft moon, both comely and fair.
Were my clothes not to become soaked with dew,
I'd lie under cherry blossoms until the day breaks.

Restless Love

Through rain, through snow,
Through tempest go!
'Mongst steaming caves,
O'er misty waves,
On, on! still on!
Peace, rest have flown!

Sooner through sadness
I'd wish to be slain,
Than all the gladness
Of life to sustain;
All the fond yearning
That heart feels for heart,
Only seems burning
To make them both smart!

How shall I fly?
Forestwards hie?
Vain were all strife!
Bright crown of life,
Turbulent bliss, —
Love, thou art this!

First Loss

Ah ! who'll e'er those days restore,
Those bright days of early love!
Who'll one hour again concede,
Of that time so fondly cherish'd!
Silently my wounds I feed,
And with wailing evermore
Sorrow o'er each joy now perish'd.
Ah! who'll e'er the days restore
Of that time so fondly cherish'd!
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