UR eyes that once were never weary of
Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning."And then She:"Although our love is waning, let us
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."The woods were round them, and the yellow
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and onceA rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In bosom and hair."Ah, do not mourn," he said,"That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our
Are love, and a continual farewell."
