What are spirits ? light indeed and gay They are, like winter-flowers, nor last a day; Comes a rude icy wind,—they feel, and fade away.
Crabbe.
To sigh, yet feel no pain,—
To weep—yet scarce know why,
To sport an hour with beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by :
To kneel at many a shrine,
Yet lay the heart on none;
To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won;
This is love—careless love—
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.
To keep one sacred flame
Through life unchill'd, unmoved,
To love in wiut'ry age the same,
As first in youth we loved :
To feel that we adore
With such refined excess,
That though the heart would break with more,
It could not love with less—
This is love—faithful love—
Such as saints might feel above !
Moore,
