'Twas eve and May when last, thro'  tears
   Thine eyes sought mine, thy hand my hand.
The night came down her silent spheres. 
           And up the silent land.

In silence, too, my thoughts were furl'd, 
   Like ring-doves in the dreaming grove. 
Who would not lightly lose the world
           To keep such love?

But many Mays, with all their flowers,
   Are faded since that blissful time --
The last of all my happy hours
           In the golden clime!

By hands not thine this wreath were curl'd
   That hide the care my brows above:
And I have almost gained the world
           But lost that love.

 ...