 | Dreams and days |  |
V
Listen now to what is said
By the eighth opal, flashing red
And pale, by turns, with every breath—
The voice of the lover after death.
By the eighth opal, flashing red
111
The voice of the lover after death.
EIGHTH OPAL
I did not know before
That we dead could rise and walk;
That our voices, as of yore,
Would blend in gentle talk.
That we dead could rise and walk;
That our voices, as of yore,
Would blend in gentle talk.
I did not know her eyes
Would so haunt mine after death,
Or that she could hear my sighs,
Low as the harp-string's breath.
Would so haunt mine after death,
Or that she could hear my sighs,
Low as the harp-string's breath.
But, ah, last night we met!
From our stilly trance we rose,
Thrilled with all the old regret—
The grieving that God knows.
From our stilly trance we rose,
Thrilled with all the old regret—
The grieving that God knows.
She asked: “Am I forgiven?”—
“And dost thou forgive?” I said,
Ah! how long for joy we 'd striven!
But now our hearts were dead.
“And dost thou forgive?” I said,
Ah! how long for joy we 'd striven!
But now our hearts were dead.
112
Alas, for the lips I kissed
And the sweet hope, long ago!
On her grave chill hangs the mist;
On mine, white lies the snow.
And the sweet hope, long ago!
On her grave chill hangs the mist;
On mine, white lies the snow.
| Dreams and days | |