Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments By Frederic W. H. Myers: Edited by his Wife Eveleen Myers |
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[And all is over; and again I stand] |
 | Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments |  |
354
[And all is over; and again I stand]
And all is over; and again I stand,
O Love, alone on our remembered strand!
And hills and waters all the dreamy day
Melt each in each thro' silvery haze and grey,
And Jaman takes the sunset, Jura knows
Beyond the liquid plains the morning rose.
O Love, alone on our remembered strand!
And hills and waters all the dreamy day
Melt each in each thro' silvery haze and grey,
And Jaman takes the sunset, Jura knows
Beyond the liquid plains the morning rose.
Lake of the lone, the exiled, the oppressed,
What sighs have wandered o'er thy sea-blue breast!
What gaze has watched the suns that could not save
Flame from thy hills and fade upon thy wave!
Great men and fallen upon thy shores have shed
Their few slow tears for fame and fortune fled;
Sad men and wise have been content to see
In thy cold calm their last felicity.
And now thy sunlit vault, these walls of thine,
Seem an unroofed and angel-haunted shrine,
Fair as my love, bright with her vanished bloom,
Stilled with her woe and sacred as her tomb.
What sighs have wandered o'er thy sea-blue breast!
What gaze has watched the suns that could not save
Flame from thy hills and fade upon thy wave!
Great men and fallen upon thy shores have shed
Their few slow tears for fame and fortune fled;
Sad men and wise have been content to see
In thy cold calm their last felicity.
And now thy sunlit vault, these walls of thine,
Seem an unroofed and angel-haunted shrine,
Fair as my love, bright with her vanished bloom,
Stilled with her woe and sacred as her tomb.
355
For here she stood, and here she spoke, and there
Raised her soft look thro' the evening's crimsoned air;
And all she looked was lovely; all she said
Simple, and sweet, and full of tears unshed;
And my soul sprang to meet her, and I knew
Dimly the hope we twain were called unto.
Raised her soft look thro' the evening's crimsoned air;
And all she looked was lovely; all she said
Simple, and sweet, and full of tears unshed;
And my soul sprang to meet her, and I knew
Dimly the hope we twain were called unto.
| Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments | |