In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour, <br /> When in the firelight steadily aglow, <br /> Joined slackly, we beheld the red chasm grow <br /> Among the clicking coals. Our library-bower <br /> That eve was left to us: and hushed we sat <br /> As lovers to whom Time is whispering. <br /> From sudden-opened doors we heard them sing: <br /> The nodding elders mixed good wine with chat. <br /> Well knew we that Life's greatest treasure lay <br /> With us, and of it was our talk. "Ah, yes! <br /> Love dies!" I said: I never thought it less. <br /> She yearned to me that sentence to unsay. <br /> Then when the fire domed blackening, I found <br /> Her cheek was salt against my kiss, and swift <br /> Up the sharp scale of sobs her breast did lift:-- <br /> Now am I haunted by that taste! that sound!<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/modern-love-xvi/
