 | Poems |  |
85
Sympathy
I often think, wert thou to die,
A thrill of secret sympathy
Would knit thy soul with mine,
And through the air would come to me
A pang of sadness suddenly,
If thou became divine.
A thrill of secret sympathy
Would knit thy soul with mine,
And through the air would come to me
A pang of sadness suddenly,
If thou became divine.
Through prayer and longing for thy heart
In all thy fate I have a part
To feel, to think, or say;
So shouldst thou fade, a sudden sigh
Would startle me,—in death more nigh,—
In life so far away!
In all thy fate I have a part
To feel, to think, or say;
So shouldst thou fade, a sudden sigh
Would startle me,—in death more nigh,—
In life so far away!
As when on some high pasture-hill
A shepherd feels the sudden chill
Of evening come to him,
When through the golden gates of sky
The tender tints of sunset fly,
And all the land grows dim.
A shepherd feels the sudden chill
Of evening come to him,
When through the golden gates of sky
The tender tints of sunset fly,
And all the land grows dim.
So if thine hours of life were done,
A shudder through my soul would run,
An icy wind would blow
Upon me, standing on the height
Whereto Love bore me by his might,
And set me, long ago.
A shudder through my soul would run,
An icy wind would blow
86
Whereto Love bore me by his might,
And set me, long ago.
Know you not, dearest, if thou sing
And touch upon thine harp a string,
Another chord vibrates?
So if death snap thy life-time's thread,
Shall I too know that thou art dead,
And free from loves and hates!
And touch upon thine harp a string,
Another chord vibrates?
So if death snap thy life-time's thread,
Shall I too know that thou art dead,
And free from loves and hates!
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