  I have seen her in sorrow, as one blind With grief, across the furrows on soiled feet Pass, as the cold gray dawn came with cold wind, Gray as fine steel and keen with bitter sleet, Beneath the white moon waning in the skies: And I grew holy gazing in her eyes. Then her voice came: Ah! but thou wert too fair To seek among the dim realms of the dead Love: and what hands will tremble in thine hair Or lips faint on thy lips? The clear stars shed All night their dews on me: and the wind’s breath Pierced; and my heart grew hungry too for death. Whose sight was all my soul! O golden one, Whose hair was like the corn, and rippling seas Of new-sprung grasses where the light winds run! O thou, whose breath was music, and whose mirth Ran like bright water o’er the thirsting earth. Surely now where the frail, dim shadows dwell Thou hast sown all the marvel of Earth’s flowers And lit with wonder all the ways of Hell And winged the feet of their slow-footed hours, While I sit lonely by the water-springs On the bare earth where not one linnet sings! The dead leaves fluttered round her, and she sate There by the well-side filmed with silver frost, With no more heart to wail what she hath lost: And silence grew about her, as though grief Stilled the rude winds, and every withered leaf. |
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