The Ebb of Love

A love that wanes is as an ebbing tide,
Which slowly, inch by inch, and scarce perceived,
With many a wave that makes brave show to rise,
Fails from the shore. No sudden treason turns
The long-accustomed loyalty to hate,
But years bring weariness for sweet content,
And fondness, daily sustenance of love,
Which use should make a tribute easier paid,
First grudged, and then withholden, starves the heart;
And though compassion, or remorseful thoughts
Of happy days departed, bring again
The ancient tenderness in seeming flood,
Not less it ebbs and ebbs till all is bare.
O happy shore, the flowing tide shall brim
Thy empty pools, and spread dull tangled weeds
In streamers many-colored as the lights
Which flash in northern heavens, and revive
The fainting blossoms of the rocks; but thou,
O heart, whence love hath ebbed, art ever bare!

poem by Alfred John Church from Littell's Living Age, Volume 173, Issue 2244 (1887)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In Memoriam Puellulæ Dulcissimæ. - D. P. W.

Ah! what is left for love to prize?
A little dress or trinket toy
Which once could make the innocent eyes
Brighten with glimpses of the joy
The woman feels in being fair —
A chair left sadly in its place —
A little tress of chestnut hair —
A little likeness of her face,
Ah! vacant of the living light
Which magic sunbeam never gave —
And, on our city's northern height,
Across a thousand streets — a grave.
No more, no more. O fruitless pain
Of birth and nurture, wasted years
Of care, and watches watched in vain!
O idle hopes! O idle fears!

'Tis well to tell us she is blest,
That never sin or grief shall break
The quiet of her perfect rest.

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poem by Alfred John Church from Littell's Living Age, Volume 173, Issue 2240 (1887)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!