We twain have met like the ships upon the sea,1 Who hold an hours converse, so short, so sweet; One little hour! And then, away they speed On lonely paths, through mist and cloud and foam, To meet no more.
In life there is nothing more unexpected and surprising than the arrivals and departures of pleasure. If we find it in one place to-day, it is vain to seek it there to-morrow. You can not lay a trap for it.
City Poem: The Fear of Dying.
Note 1. Longfellow: The Theologians Tale: Elizabeth, page 644. Thomas Moore: The Meeting of the Ships, page 644, note. Edward Bulwer-Lytton: A Lament, page 631. [back]