A FRAGMENT 
23 
He. 
And whose strong tide shall bear our spirit out 
Into the ocean of all happiness 
Whose bounds are Heaven. 
She. 
See !  the scythe of Time 
Sweeps on to cut the new-born flowers in twain 
That symbolizes the reluctant hour 
In which we met—and now the flower is dead 
And we must part. 
 
He. 
Fond hearts, chaste souls, as one 
Whose unity is sacred, still shall dwell 
Together—Not the cold embrace 
Of “ We shall meet again ”, but let us say 
The ritual of a lover, being this 
“ God be with you ! ” 
She. 
O heart too dear to me, 
Too much beloved for lover’s tongue to tell, 
God be with you !  Farewell, sweet heart ! 
He. 
Farewell.  
 
 
(EXEUNT). 
 
BESUNT CETERA.