a poem from a friend.

When passion's trance is overpast,

If tenderness and truth could last
Or live- whilst all wild feelings keep
Some mortal slumber, dark and deep-
I should not weep, I should not weep...

It were enough to feel, to see
Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly...
And dream the rest- and burn and be
The secret food of fires unseen,
Could thou but be what thou hast been?

After the slumber of the year
The woodland violets reappear;
All things revive in field or grove
And sky and sea, but two, which move
And form all others- life and love...

-L.W.B.