Canto LXXIX

Could I have said while he was here

      'My love shall now no further range,

      There cannot come a mellower change,

For now is love mature in ear.'

Love, then, had hope of richer store:

      What end is here to my complaint?

      This haunting whisper makes me faint,

'More years had made me love thee more.'

But Death returns an answer sweet:

      'My sudden frost was sudden gain,

      And gave all ripeness to the grain,

It might have drawn from after-heat.'