XIII.
And as I ope the temple of my heart
And seek its inmost and its holiest shrine,
Still there, my love, my darling one, thou art,—
There still I worship thee and call thee mine;
And this sweet anthem all that temple fills—
“Love cannot lose, ’tis loss of love that kills.”
[Postscript.]
XIV.
What cry was that which woke me from my dream?
I stand upon my native, island shore,
And hear the startled curlews round me scream
O’er the mute cliffs that make the fierce waves roar;
I watch the “stately ships” go sailing by,
And wonder how my heart has learned to sigh.
XV.
Ah! that was but a dream. A summer’s eve
Breathes all its balmy blessings on my brow;
I feel as though the earth had got reprieve
From its death-sentence. See, the sun sets now—
The blue of heaven grows gently dark above,—
Below, blue eyes are growing dark with love.
XVI.
That, too, was but a dream. What startled me?
The winds are making havoc ’mong the leaves
Of summer-time, and each once happy tree
For its lost darlings rocks itself and grieves.
The night is dark, the sky is thick with clouds—
Kind frost-nymphs make the little leaves their shrouds!