Chapter LXXXII

Cold heart, that hath not felt some passing pain;
Some aching or desire to be together;
To wander hand in hand through heath or heather;
Or something that doth move the simple swain!
Were there not some possession thus to gain
Of love, or lover’s wint’ry gale to weather,
As we do follow life, I know not whether
’Twould be not best from living to abstain.
Then dead is he who hath not felt this joy,
This joy and sorrow mingled in his soul;
To seek for love, and feel its kindling flame,
That doth old age and youth at once annoy,
Yet holy treasures toward their threshold roll;
For lovers’ tears and smiles are oft the same.