  I see a fair young couple in a wood, And as they go, one bends to take a flower, That so may be embalmed their happy hour And in another day, a kindred mood, Haply together, or in solitude, Recovered what the teeth of Time devour, The joy, the bloom, and the illusive power, Wherewith by their young blood they are endued To move all enviable, framed in May, And of an aspect sisterly with Truth: Yet seek they with Time’s laughing things to wed: Who will be prompted on some pallid day To lift the hueless flower and show that dead, Even such, and by this token, is their youth. Phoebus with Admetus. The measure runs: Melampus. Love in the Valley: Trochaic, variable in short syllables according to stress of the accent. A sketch of this poem appeared in a volume published many years back, now extinct. |
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