TO J. S.
215
iv.
He lends us; but, when love is grown
To ripeness, that on which it throve
Falls off, and love is left alone.
v.
In grief I am not all unlearn'd;
Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass;
One went, who never hath return'd.
vi.
Once more. Two years his chair is seen
Empty before us. That was he
Without whose life I had not been.
vii.
Rose with you thro' a little arc
Of heaven, nor having wander'd far
Shot on the sudden into dark.
