"Yea, but here
Thy feet have stray'd in after hours
With thy lost friend among the bowers,
And this hath made them trebly dear."
Through half the day each one prefers a separate appeal by endearing
circumstance; but the contest affords no superiority to either; and, as
the Poet turns away from the illusion,
"They mix in one another's arms
To one pure image of regret."
This picture is very beautiful.