 | Lays of France |  |
'Tis as though both of us had died
I think; and that lone grave of thine
Is scarce a harder place to pine
And gnaw the inmost heart and shed
Unsolaced tears in, than this bed,
Lonely and waste and white, where grief
Hath held me buried, years wrought sore
With sorrowing. No fair hope made brief
The agony it was, no more
To see one loved face bring relief
Of love: the hollow darkness bore
No dream to comfort; and the sight
Of the yet fair unruined white
Of my forlorn lost beauty pained
My spirit, showing me but chained
To so much more of death. Farewell:
Memory or sleep shall hold their spell
Unchanged upon you, till the name
Or thought of Sarrazine shall dwell
No more with you; and though, at last,
She winneth any sweet the past
Knew nothing of, she will not cast
The tenderness of many a day
Quickly and utterly away:
And, though quite other she became,
Surely the grave will feel the same.
I think; and that lone grave of thine
Is scarce a harder place to pine
And gnaw the inmost heart and shed
Unsolaced tears in, than this bed,
Lonely and waste and white, where grief
Hath held me buried, years wrought sore
With sorrowing. No fair hope made brief
The agony it was, no more
To see one loved face bring relief
Of love: the hollow darkness bore
No dream to comfort; and the sight
Of the yet fair unruined white
Of my forlorn lost beauty pained
My spirit, showing me but chained
To so much more of death. Farewell:
Memory or sleep shall hold their spell
Unchanged upon you, till the name
Or thought of Sarrazine shall dwell
120
She winneth any sweet the past
Knew nothing of, she will not cast
The tenderness of many a day
Quickly and utterly away:
And, though quite other she became,
Surely the grave will feel the same.
| Lays of France | |