AND this, then, is love's ending. It is like The history of some fair southern clime: Hot fires are in the bosom of the earth, And the warmed soil puts forth its thousand flowers, Its fruits of gold -- summer's regality; And sleep and odours float upon the air, Making it heavy with its own delight. At length the subterranean element Bursts from its secret solitude, and lays All waste before it. The red lava stream Sweeps like a pestilence; and that which was A garden for some fairy tale's young queen Is one wild desert, lost in burning sand. Thus is it with the heart. Love lights it up With one rich flush of beauty. Mark the end: Hopes, that have quarrelled even with themselves, And joys that make a bitter memory; While the heart, scorched and withered, and o'erwhelmed By passion's earthquake, loathes the name of love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET: 97 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE MY MOTHER by FLORENCE R. ANDREWS STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY by BERNARD BARTON CAGNES; ON THE RIVIERA by MATHILDE BLIND A DIALOGUE ABOUT COMPELLING A PERSON TO TAKE OATHS TO THE GOVERNMENT by JOHN BYROM SONG TO ONE WHO, WHEN I PRAIS'D MY MISTRESS' BEAUTY, SAID I WAS BLIND by THOMAS CAREW |