 | Benoni |  |
94
[From month to month I come, from year]
From month to month I come, from year
To darken'd year I come and go;
And still I ask if thou be here,
And none doth answer Yes or No:
To darken'd year I come and go;
And still I ask if thou be here,
And none doth answer Yes or No:
The house doth stand unchanged, and hear
Its wonted tread of thronging men:
So little doth our outward gear
Reck of the fretful change within!
Its wonted tread of thronging men:
So little doth our outward gear
Reck of the fretful change within!
Still slides the water, slow and sere,
And, eddying onward to the foss,
Breaks o'er it foaming—but I hear
No sound therein of change or loss:
And, eddying onward to the foss,
Breaks o'er it foaming—but I hear
No sound therein of change or loss:
All things their ancient semblance wear—
But faint misgivings at my heart
Do thro' the husk the kernel tear,
And ask impassion'd where thou art;
But faint misgivings at my heart
Do thro' the husk the kernel tear,
And ask impassion'd where thou art;
95
For that unconscious presence dear
That tints and flushes all we see—
The sense that something loved is near—
Doth haunt the place no more for me:
That tints and flushes all we see—
The sense that something loved is near—
Doth haunt the place no more for me:
And where above the blind thy clear
Deep eyes did nurse their sweets unseen
Till I should pass, strange myrtles rear
Their shade, with mocking flowers between.
Deep eyes did nurse their sweets unseen
Till I should pass, strange myrtles rear
Their shade, with mocking flowers between.
Oh, if one keener stroke doth shear
And shred their blossoms from the hours,
'Tis, that I feel thou art not here,
And that the thought is born of flowers.
And shred their blossoms from the hours,
'Tis, that I feel thou art not here,
And that the thought is born of flowers.
| Benoni | |