O TROPIC Night! thy fervid glow, Of passion, love, and whispering sweet, Still sends its warm breath Through the dim-lit halls of marble memory. Lo! after nights grow cold, And daylight pales to mistiness; And in my midnight I do oft remember,— Ah, could I but forget! and you? Unto your restless eyes the years may bring The changing scenes the world holds fair; But close thine eyes, and, burned on them, Shall rise that other night Of wild, sweet madness, sweet unrest Of passion-flowers, and bitter-sweet,— That night I must remember, That you can ne'er forget. The river Lethe long run dry, The salt tears still must fall And lips grow old and cold. Not chance, but unrelenting Fate Showed us the morning light,— Came to us o'er the graves of buried sinners; Till over ours the sunlight comes To other, happier lovers. This is our cross, our pain; No memory of the fair-robed Day Shall pale the radiance Of that distant Night.
