is still one line which requires a
separate explanation--I mean the sentence about the sands of time running
golden. Perhaps you may remember the same simile in Tennyson's "Locksley
Hall":

Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in His glowing hands;
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.

Here time is identified with the sand of the hour glass, and the verb "to
run" is used because this verb commonly expresses the trickling of the
sand from the upper part of the glass into the lower. In other words, fine
sand "runs" just like water. To say that the sands of time run golden, or
become changed into gold, is only a poetical way of stating that the time
becomes more than happy--almost heavenly or divine. And now you will see
how very beautiful the comparison becomes in this little poem about the
ghost of the woman waiting for the coming step of her lover.

Several other aspects of the emotion may now be considered separately. One
of these, an especially beautiful one, is memory. Of course, there are
many aspects of love's memories, some all happiness, others intensely
sorrowful--the memory of a walk, a meeting, a moment of good-bye. Such
memories occupy a very large place in the treasure house of English love
poems. I am going to give three examples only, but each of a different
kind. The first poet that I am going to mention is Coventry Patmore. He
wrote two curious books of poetry, respectively called "The Angel in the
House" and "The Unknown Eros." In the first of these books he wrote the
whole history of his courtship and marriage--a very dangerous thing for a
poet to do, but he did it successfully. The second volume is
miscellaneous, and contains some very beautiful things. I am going to
quote only a few lines from the piece called "Amelia." This piece is the
story of an evening spent with a sweetheart, and the lines which I am
quoting refer to the moment of taking the girl home. They are now rather
famous:

... To the dim street
I led her sacred feet;
And so the Daughter gave,
Soft, moth-like, sweet,
Showy as damask-rose and shy as musk,
Back to her Mother, anxious in the dusk.
And now "Good Night!"

Why should the poet speak of the girl in this way? Why does he call her
feet sacred? She has just promised to marry him; and now she seems to him
quite divine. But he discovers very plain words with which to communicate
his finer feelings to the reader. The street is "