MY Damon was the first to wake The gentle flame that cannot die; My Damon is the last to take The faithful bosom's softest sigh: The life between is nothing worth, O cast it from thy thought away! Think of the day that gave it birth, And this its sweet returning day. Buried be all that has been done, Or say that naught is done amiss; For who the dangerous path can shun In such bewildering world as this? But love can every fault forgive, Or with a tender look reprove; And now let naught in memory live But that we meet, and that we love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN A GARRET by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN THE LAST MAN; A LAKE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES ETHELWALD, FR. METRICAL HISTORY OF ST. CUTHBERT by BEDE THOUGHTS ON THE SHAPE OF THE HUMAN BODY by RUPERT BROOKE UPON THIS WORK OF HIS BELOVED FRIEND THE AUTHOR by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) NIGHT AND THE MERRY MAN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A SILVER WEDDING: B.F.B.-E.G.B., 1855-1880 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |