The Poetical Works of John Payne Definitive Edition in Two Volumes |
 |
 | I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
|
|
|
|
 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
230
MADRIGAL TRISTE.
IF we should meet,
You and I,
My sweet,
In some fair land where under the blue sky
The scents of the fresh violets never die
And Spring is deathless under deathless feet,
Should we clasp hands and kiss,
My sweet,
With the old bliss?
Would our eyes meet
With the same passionate frankness as of old,
When the fresh Spring was in the Summer's gold?
Ah, no! my dear.
Woe's me! our kisses are but frore;
The blossoms of our early love are sere
And will be fresh no more.
You and I,
My sweet,
In some fair land where under the blue sky
The scents of the fresh violets never die
And Spring is deathless under deathless feet,
Should we clasp hands and kiss,
My sweet,
With the old bliss?
Would our eyes meet
With the same passionate frankness as of old,
When the fresh Spring was in the Summer's gold?
Ah, no! my dear.
Woe's me! our kisses are but frore;
The blossoms of our early love are sere
And will be fresh no more.
If we should stand,
You and I,
My sweet,
On that bright strand
Where day fades never and the golden street
Rings to the music of the angels' feet,
Would our rent hearts find solace in the sky?
Should we lose heed,
My dear,
Of the sad years?
Would our souls cease to bleed
For the past anguish and our eyes grow clear,
In heaven, from all the furrows of the tears?
Ah, no! my dear.
Needs must we sigh and stand aloof.
Once riven,
God could not heal our love,
Even in heaven.
You and I,
My sweet,
On that bright strand
Where day fades never and the golden street
Rings to the music of the angels' feet,
Would our rent hearts find solace in the sky?
Should we lose heed,
My dear,
Of the sad years?
Would our souls cease to bleed
For the past anguish and our eyes grow clear,
In heaven, from all the furrows of the tears?
Ah, no! my dear.
Needs must we sigh and stand aloof.
Once riven,
God could not heal our love,
Even in heaven.
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |