  In Greece I found the place, though earth Has many such; and wandering there alone, One Autumn evening when the moon rose late, I heard this song, though none was there to sing. A ghostly rune, yet left the alarmÈd dark Quivering with life, tear-warm and murmuring: No morrow is if hearts say no; Life is gone when love doth go. No tear to weep, no prayer to pray; Endeth time with lovers' day. This trailing night will pale and flee, And dawn again creep o'er the sea; Light's tender hands will earth attire, Aloft will swim the golden fire, And every bird begin his lay, But I shall know there is no day. But heart of Bacchus, she will seek With healing eyes each winter wound, Till little minstrels of the ground, The choral buds, in wonder wake To croon the dewy songs they take From brooks that haunt the woodman's glade And lose a dream in every shade. And ere the Spring has vanished, Summer will make her rosy bed And new loves take with every wind Till earth be laden with her kind And foster-bosomed Autumn come To nurse the darlings of her womb. But naught of season, change, or sun, Recks the heart whose love is done. Oh, ne'er again will beauty wear For my sad eyes a robe more fair, And ne'er again will music make A sweeter song for my poor sake. No tear to weep, no prayer to pray! Endeth time with lover's day. Life is gone when love doth go. Death, O Death, why dost thou flee From one whose wish is but for thee? Here is thy pillow, on my breast. No dove but would its spicÈd nest Forego to couch in this sweet bed That here I open for thy head. Thou wilt not hear? Thou wilt not come? Then must I seek thee in thy home. Once more lift up this stone-dead heart, And leap to find thee where thou art! |
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