EPHEMERA
 
 "YOUR eyes that once were never weary of mine
 Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,
 Because our love is waning."
 And then She:
 "Although our love is waning, let us stand
 By the lone border of the lake once more,
 Together in that hour of gentleness
 When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
 How far away the stars seem, and how far
 Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"
 Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
 While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
 "Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."
 The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
 Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
 A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
 Autumn was over him:  and now they stood
 On the lone border of the lake once more:
 Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
 Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
 In bosom and hair.
 "Ah, do not mourn," he said,
 "That we are tired, for other loves await us;
 Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
 Before us lies eternity; our souls
 Are love, and a continual farewell."