  O Love, where are the hours fled, The hours of our young delight? Are they forever gone and dead, Or only vanished out of sight? O can it be that we shall live To know once more the joys gone by, To feel the old, deep love revive, And smile again before we die? Could I but fancy it might be, Could I the past bring back again, And for one moment, holding thee, Forget the present and its pain! O Love, those hours are past away Beyond our longing and our sighs— Perhaps the Angels, some bright day, Will give them back in Paradise! August, 1876. |
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