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337

REGRET

If in this church-yard's crowded round
The letters on this simple stone
Seem common tale of burial ground,
Why pause so long before this one,
Bearing, you see, a maiden's name
And years that show she died when young?
A thousand grave-stones tell the same
In peace our rural vales among.
Shall I claim special emphasis
Of pain beyond my neighbour's share?
My love, and is it come to this,
Men say that I no longer care?
“So fails,” they sneer, “this noisy woe
That would reprove our calmer grief.
He made us sick with all the show
Of his despair. He must be chief
“And lord above all grief before;
His finer feelings, sole of men,
Could wring out sorrow to the core:
Such ostentatious tears, and then,
“He dries them soon enough; behold,
He's much as others; only, say,
From dulness now his manner's cold:
He always had a sullen way.
“He soon would wed, could one be found
To take her chance with him so grey,
But not a maid, the township round,
Would care to name the nuptial day.”
Ay me, to vex my soul with lies.
The fools may cackle as they will;
In every narrow huckster's eyes
Convention sways this planet still.

338

Thou seest clear at least, mine own,
Thou knowest, is my sorrow done?
So my thought reach thee near the throne
That lends his brightness to the sun.
My heart within me frets and burns
This mill-wheel round of time to bear.
My spirit from old habit turns
To where thou wert; a void is there.
I take my laugh and bear a hand
In all the busy neighbours strive;
Ah, could they come to understand,
The heart is dead, the man alive.
A dreamy life without a will,
I move as friends would have me go.
I hardly heed, if yonder hill
Be gentian-clad or crisp with snow.
Rock on through space, thou weary globe,
Let each month wake her sister flower.
Night is around me like a robe:
The throstle's song is harsh and sour.
I brood thro' all the light, and wait
Thro' all the darkness: wait? for whom?
I watch for something sure as fate:
I hear its footsteps near in gloom.
I know it comes and it will come.
Ay me, why must I watch so long?
The slow clouds crumble, dome on dome,
And change their colours; like a song
Note-changing ripples into new.
Would clouds dissolve, and show thy face
In chasms of eternal blue,
Ringed with the radiant morning's grace!
Thy face I cannot call at will,
But casual looks of mart and street
I can depict with faithful skill,
Tho' these I hardly know to greet.

339

As words lose meaning often said,
Confused thy gracious image lies
Too often dwelt upon. Instead,
A fragment cheats my longing eyes.
I've dried my tears, as gossips say;
And shall be merry then, they know.
My trivial tears are done away,
Precursors to the deeper woe.