To regain her there.

XI

And believe that his oath is able!

That there is not in all the sea

Water enough to quench the fable

Of his soul's intensity.

Yet there was never a rose that blossomed

And endured beyond its day.

There was never a fire enkindled

But the great Cold had its way.

XII

"Pessimist," is your mortal answer,

"Wait till the love-wind pierces you!"

Wait? I have been the veriest dancer

To it, and, dupe still, would do

[Pg 41]

Truth to the death—shall I confess it?—

For but a moment on one breast.

Wherefore I add—and Adam bless it!—

Who loves once is like the rest.

 Prev. P 37/86 next