Love that is dead and buried, yesterday Out of his grave rose up before my face; No recognition in his look, no trace Of memory in his eyes dust-dimmed and grey; While I, remembering, found no word to say, But felt my quickened heart leap in its place; Caught afterglow thrown back from long-set days, Caught echoes of all music past away. Was this indeed to meet? - I mind me yet In youth we met when hope and love were quick, We parted with hope dead but love quick, I mind me how we parted then heart-sick, Remembering, loving, hopeless, weak to strive: - Was this to meet? Not so, we have not met. |