The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss had brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more.

And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell.

If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?

Trust me not at all, or all in all.

And every dew-drop paints a bow.

Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.

Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.