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THE TOMB OF ROMEO AND JULIET.
51
Of all my own fond heart can tell
Of love's despair, and love's farewell—
Its many miseries, its tears
Like lava, not like dew,— its fears,
That make hope painful,— then its trust,
So often trampled in the dust;
Neglected, blighted, and betrayed,
A sorrow and a mockery made.
Then change and adverse fortune, all
That binds and keeps sweet Love in thrall.
Oh, surely, surely, it were best
To be just for one moment blest;
Just gaze upon one worshipped eye,
And know yourself beloved, and die!
L. E. L.
