AND this, then, is love's ending. It is like The history of some fair southern clime: Hot fires are in the bosom of the earth, And the warmed soil puts forth its thousand flowers, Its fruits of gold -- summer's regality; And sleep and odours float upon the air, Making it heavy with its own delight. At length the subterranean element Bursts from its secret solitude, and lays All waste before it. The red lava stream Sweeps like a pestilence; and that which was A garden for some fairy tale's young queen Is one wild desert, lost in burning sand. Thus is it with the heart. Love lights it up With one rich flush of beauty. Mark the end: Hopes, that have quarrelled even with themselves, And joys that make a bitter memory; While the heart, scorched and withered, and o'erwhelmed By passion's earthquake, loathes the name of love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE INDIAN SERENADE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THERE IS NO LOVING AFTER DEATH by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS THE COO OF THE CUSHAT by ADA CAMBRIDGE OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 27 by THOMAS CAMPION TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. ALL NIGHT LONG by EDWARD CARPENTER EVENSONG by JOSEPHINE NORFOLK CARR |