  WAVES the soft grass at my feet; Dost thou feel me near thee, sweet? Though the earth upon thy face Holds thee close from my embrace, Yet my spirit thine can reach, Needs betwixt us twain no speech, For the same soul lives in each. Now I meet no tender eyes Seeking mine in soft surmise At some broken utterance faint, Smile quick brightening, sigh half spent; Yet in some sweet hours gone by, No responding eye to eye Needed we for sympathy. Love, I seem to see thee stand Silent in a shadowy land, With a look upon thy face As if even in that dull place Memories of vanished years, Or faint echoes of those tears. Yet I would not have it thus; Then would be most piteous Our divided lives, if thou An imperfect bliss should know; Sweet my suffering, if to thee Death has brought the faculty Of entire felicity. Rather would I weep in vain, That thou canst not share my pain, Deem that Lethean waters roll Softly o’er thy separate soul, Know that a divided bliss Makes thee careless of my kiss, Than that thou shouldst feel distress. Hush! I hear a low, sweet sound As of music stealing round; Forms thy hand the thrilling chords Into more than spoken words? Ah! ’tis but the gathering breeze Whispering to the budding trees, Or the song of early bees. Love! where art thou? Canst thou not Hear me, or is all forgot? Seest thou not these burning tears? Can my words not reach thine ears? Or betwixt my soul and thine Has some mystery divine Sealed a separating line? Is it thus, then, after death Old things none remembereth? Is the spirit henceforth clear Of the life it gathered here? Will our noblest longings seem Like some disremembered dream In the after world’s full beam? Hark! the rainy wind blows loud, Scuds above the hurrying cloud; Hushed is all the song of bees; Angry murmurs of the trees Herald tempests. Silent yet Sleepest thou—nor fear nor fret Troubles thee. Can I forget? |
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