 | Poems |  |
FAREWELL!
Parted, parted, ever parted,—
Said and said the words have been,
Yet I hear them, broken-hearted,
As in wonder what they mean;
To no sense my soul has started
Of the all within them seen.
Said and said the words have been,
Yet I hear them, broken-hearted,
As in wonder what they mean;
To no sense my soul has started
Of the all within them seen.
Parted, parted,—throbbing through me
With a strange, dull, dreamy pain,
As of no real import to me,
Pulse your accents through my brain—
Sound your low, rich, full tones through me,
Never heard in love again.
With a strange, dull, dreamy pain,
As of no real import to me,
Pulse your accents through my brain—
Sound your low, rich, full tones through me,
Never heard in love again.
How you lured me on in dreaming
You were evermore my own,
Is, O fair dissembling seeming!
Well to both our memories known,
Will, with tears through far years streaming,
Haunt one thought, though one alone.
You were evermore my own,
Is, O fair dissembling seeming!
Well to both our memories known,
Will, with tears through far years streaming,
Haunt one thought, though one alone.
Still my heart you saw was trembling
With the wealth of love it bore;
Judged by mine, mine all resembling,
Yours I thought no masquing wore;
Was like mine, O all dissembling!
Truth through all its inmost core.
With the wealth of love it bore;
Judged by mine, mine all resembling,
Yours I thought no masquing wore;
Was like mine, O all dissembling!
Truth through all its inmost core.
480
Blindly—blindly—all believing,
With an utter faith in you,
Childlike, did I woo deceiving,
Childlike, deem you must be true;
Could I dream your web was weaving
Round a heart no guile that knew!
With an utter faith in you,
Childlike, did I woo deceiving,
Childlike, deem you must be true;
Could I dream your web was weaving
Round a heart no guile that knew!
Must I calmly, coldly, meet you?
Must no old familiar word,
Rushing through my lips to greet you,
Ever—evermore be heard!
As a very stranger treat you,
Who no pulse of mine has stirred!
Must no old familiar word,
Rushing through my lips to greet you,
Ever—evermore be heard!
As a very stranger treat you,
Who no pulse of mine has stirred!
Ah, that years, alas! could sever
Hearts, in seeming, once so true,
So that time could change us ever,
Was a thing I little knew!
Surely, dreamed I, change could never
Thrust itself 'twixt me and you.
Hearts, in seeming, once so true,
So that time could change us ever,
Was a thing I little knew!
Surely, dreamed I, change could never
Thrust itself 'twixt me and you.
Would that I could then have known you
As I truly know you now,
Ere my sightless trust, to own you,
Falseness as you are, knew how,
Ere the coming days had shown you,
Thing of change, as you are now!
As I truly know you now,
Ere my sightless trust, to own you,
Falseness as you are, knew how,
Ere the coming days had shown you,
Thing of change, as you are now!
Vain, I know, is all complaining;
Words, I know, are useless all,
Though in blood my heart were raining
All the tears that from me fall,
For the love there's no regaining,
For the peace without recall.
Words, I know, are useless all,
Though in blood my heart were raining
All the tears that from me fall,
For the love there's no regaining,
For the peace without recall.
Pride was mine—all pride has left me;
Lingering love for you, forsworn,
Of the power to hate has reft me,
Reft me of the power to scorn;
Would that love but pride had left me!
Then with scorn, your scorn I'd borne.
Lingering love for you, forsworn,
Of the power to hate has reft me,
Reft me of the power to scorn;
Would that love but pride had left me!
Then with scorn, your scorn I'd borne.
481
Heavily the gloom of sorrow
On my thoughts its sadness lays,
Still new hope I yet may borrow,
Bounding life for coming days,
Lightening me with every morrow,
Of the grief that on me weighs.
On my thoughts its sadness lays,
Still new hope I yet may borrow,
Bounding life for coming days,
Lightening me with every morrow,
Of the grief that on me weighs.
Yet from doting has it turned me,
This vain bitter dream that's o'er,
This false, fickle heart that's spurned me,
Spurned a heart such love that bore;
Wisdom I at least have earned me,
And I trust no woman more.
This vain bitter dream that's o'er,
This false, fickle heart that's spurned me,
Spurned a heart such love that bore;
Wisdom I at least have earned me,
And I trust no woman more.
| Poems | |