MY Damon was the first to wake The gentle flame that cannot die; My Damon is the last to take The faithful bosom's softest sigh: The life between is nothing worth, O cast it from thy thought away! Think of the day that gave it birth, And this its sweet returning day. Buried be all that has been done, Or say that naught is done amiss; For who the dangerous path can shun In such bewildering world as this? But love can every fault forgive, Or with a tender look reprove; And now let naught in memory live But that we meet, and that we love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) HAUNTED by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A POEM OF SPRING by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS ODE TO THE SWALLOW by ANACREON THE CONSOLATION by LEVI BISHOP ILLUSIONS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |