Chapter XXVII

[Published in _The Gem: a Literary Annual_. London: W. Marshall, Holborn Bars, mdcccxxxi.]

O sad _No more!_ O sweet _No more!_
O strange _No more!_
By a mossed brookbank on a stone
I smelt a wildweed flower alone;
There was a ringing in my ears,
And both my eyes gushed out with tears.
Surely all pleasant things had gone before,
Low-buried fathom deep beneath with thee,
NO MORE!