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CANST THOU FORGET?

CANST thou forget, beloved, our first awaking

From out the shadowy calms of doubts and dreams, To know Love's perfect sunlight round us breaking, Bathing our beings in its gorgeous gleams

Canst thou forget?

A sky of rose and gold was o'er us glowing,
Around us was the morning breath of May;

Then met our soul-tides, thence together flowing,

Then kissed our thought-waves, mingling on their way: Canst thou forget?

Canst thou forget when first thy loving fingers
Laid gently back the locks upon my brow?
Ah, to my woman's thought that touch still lingers
And softly glides along my forehead now!

Canst thou forget?

Canst thou forget when every twilight tender,
'Mid dews and sweets, beheld our slow steps rove,
And when the nights, which come in starry splendour,
Seemed dim and pallid to our heaven of love?
Canst thou forget?

Canst thou forget the childlike heart-outpouring
Of her whose fond faith knew no faltering fears?
The lashes drooped to veil her eyes' adoring,
Her speaking silence, and her blissful tears?
Canst thou forget?

Canst thou forget the last most mournful meeting,
The trembling form clasped to thine anguished breast;
The heart against thine own, now wildly beating,

Now fluttering faint, grief-wrung, and fear-oppress'd-
Canst thou forget?

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Canst thou forget, though all Love's spells be broken,
The wild farewell, which rent our souls apart?

And that last gift, Affection's holiest token,
The severed tress, which lay upon thy heart-
Canst thou forget?

Canst thou forget, belov'd one-comes there never
The angel of sweet visions to thy rest?

Brings she not back the fond hopes fled for ever,

While one lost name thrills through thy sleeping breast?

Canst thou forget?

GRACE GREENWOOD,

MOONLIGHT NIGHT.

How beautiful this night! The balmiest sigh
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in Evening's ear,
Were discord to the speaking quietude

That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,

Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which Love had spread

To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills,
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;
Yon darksome walls, whence icicles depend

So stainless, that their white and glittering spears
Tinge not the moon's pure beam; yon castled steep,
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower

So idly, that wrapt Fancy deemeth it

A metaphor of Peace,-all form a scene
Where musing Solitude might love to lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;
Where Silence undisturb'd might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so still.

SHELLEY.

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