But Grant, O Venus

Though love had dreamt of soft eternities For never-flagging pulses still to mete, Those minutes of our bliss were few and fleet. Breast-pillowed in their aftermath of ease, She said to me at midnight: 'Memories Are all we have in the end.' Ah, bitter-sweet The doom that tolling bells of thought repeat— This verity of solemn verities Wherein the sorrowful senses find despair And the heart an iridescence on dark tears.... But grant, O Venus of the hidden hill, That many a rose-lit eve remain to share, And midnights in the unascended years, And starry memories unbegotten still.