REMORSE.

Sad is the thought of sunniest days

Of love and rapture perished,

And shine through memory's tearful haze

The eyes once fondliest cherished.

Reproachful is the ghost of toys

That charmed while life was wasted.

But saddest is the thought of joys

That never yet were tasted.

Sad is the vague and tender dream

Of dead love's lingering kisses,

To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam

Of unreturning blisses;

Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride

For the pitiless death that won them, -

But the saddest wail is for lips that died

With the virgin dew upon them.