 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
207
HE LOVED.
“He loved me once!” What words are these—
“He loved!”
Past tense, past love, past joy, past hope, past dream,—
All things that were and are not,—how they seem
To crowd around and mock the love disproved,
The former bliss, by ages long removed;
The light, far off as farthest star's pale beam
That sheds through trackless space its fitful gleam
Which once, our sun, we welcomed and approved.
“He loved!”
Past tense, past love, past joy, past hope, past dream,—
All things that were and are not,—how they seem
To crowd around and mock the love disproved,
The former bliss, by ages long removed;
The light, far off as farthest star's pale beam
That sheds through trackless space its fitful gleam
Which once, our sun, we welcomed and approved.
How dear that was which lies here stark and dead
While we sit watching in God's awful sight,
He knows; but hath no dew of healing shed,
Nor any grace doth proffer us,—by night
And change and death who are discomfited,—
No single hope to turn our dark to light.
While we sit watching in God's awful sight,
He knows; but hath no dew of healing shed,
Nor any grace doth proffer us,—by night
And change and death who are discomfited,—
No single hope to turn our dark to light.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |