We shall not meet again, love,
    As we once met;
But our meetings have left
    What I may not forget:

A thought of the past,
    Like a ghost by a tomb,
A heart that is burning,
    A cheek without bloom.

As those who have dwelt
    In the lands of the Sun,
In the north fade and fall
    When the Winter 's begun;

So my spirit, whose life
    Was Love's passionate ray,
Must pine unto death
    When its warmth fades away!—L. E. L.