The voice of love, nor yearning nor desire
Pass its grim boundaries, but brooding wings
Of silence cover its eternal sleep.
Lost utterly! Yet still I spoke to him,
As if, perchance, some whisper of my voice
Might stir the pools of silence where he lay,
And tremble lightly on the veils of sleep,
Waking some consciousness of me. Alas!
He was not there with me, but on the wind,
In every tree, his soul went wandering,