by: George Crabbe (1754-1832)
POEMS BY GEORGE CRABBE
- Y Damon
was the first to wake
- The gentle flame that cannot die;
- My Damon is the last to take
- The faithful bosom's softest sigh:
- The life between is nothing worth,
- O cast it from thy thought away!
- Think of the day that gave it birth,
- And this its sweet returning day.
- Buried be all that has been done,
- Or say that naught is done amiss;
- For who the dangerous path can shun
- In such bewildering world as this?
- But love can every fault forgive,
- Or with a tender look reprove;
- And now let naught in memory live
- But that we meet, and that we love.