28 
LOVE’S T O K E N - F L O W E R S. 
Until my heart benumbed and chill, 
Can only feel thou comest too late ; 
The joys that blessed our early youth, 
The hopes that o’er my pathway shone, 
Love’s perfect trustfulness and truth, 
Its sweet unselfishness, is gone. 
Within my bosom’s secret cell 
Love, lonely hermit, still abides, 
But ah ! '’neath memory’s cowl too well 
Ilis roseate wreath of joy he hides ; 
Ay, Love is there, but pale and worn, 
Ilis weary vigil still he keeps 
Beside the voiceless burial urn, 
Where happiness for ever sleeps. 
No more I breathe the anguished praye. 
No more I wake the yearning cry; 
The haunting demons of despair 
Now couched in sullen silence lie ; 
Distrust has come our hearts between, 
A sense of wrong in both has dwelt; 
