Our Latin books, in motley row,
Invite us to our task —
Gay Horace, stately Cicero:
Yet there’s one verb, when once we know,
No higher skill we ask:
This ranks all other lore above —
We’ve learned „’Amare’ means ’to love’!”
Sp, hour by hour, from flower to flower,
We sip the sweets of Life:
Till, all too soon, the clouds arise,
And flaming cheeks and flashing eyes
Proclaim the dawn of strife:
With half a smile and half a sigh,
„Amare! Bitter One!” we cry.
Last night we owned, with looks forlorn,
„Too well the scholar knows
There is no rose without a thorn” —
But peace is made! We sing, this morn,
„No thorn without a rose!”
Our Latin lesson is complete:
We’ve learned that Love is Bitter-Sweet!
May 1888.