The hours are past, love, <br />Oh, fled they not too fast, love! <br />Those happy hours, when down the mountain-side, <br />We saw the rosy mists of morning glide, <br />And hand in hand, went forth upon our way, <br />Full of young life and hope, to meet the day. <br />The hours are past, love, <br />Oh, fled they not too fast, love! <br />Those sunny hours, when from the midday heat, <br />We sought the waterfall with loitering feet, <br />And o'er the rocks that lock the gleaming pool, <br />1 Crept down into its depths, so dark and cool. <br />The hours are past, love, <br />Oh, fled they not too fast, love! <br />Those solemn hours, when through the violet sky, <br />Alike without a cloud, without a ray, <br />The round red autumn moon came glowingly, <br />While o'er the leaden waves our boat made way. <br />The hours are past, love, <br />Oh, fled they not too fast, love! <br />Those blessed hours, when the bright day was past, <br />And in the world we seemed to wake alone, <br />When heart to heart beat throbbingly, and fast, <br />And love was melting our two souls in one.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-after-leaving-west-point/