At first I thought that I looked into
A shadowy water of violet,
Where the faint reflection of one I knew,
Long dead, gazed up from its mirror wet,
Till she smiled in my face as the living do:
Till I felt her touch, and heard her say,
In a voice as still as a rose unfolds,—
“You have come at last: now nothing holds:
Give me your hand: let us wander away.
“Let us wander away through the Shadow Wood,
Through the Shadow Wood to the Shadow Land,
Where the trees have speech and the blossoms brood,
Like visible music; and, hand in hand,
The winds and the waves go, rainbow-hued:
Where ever the voice of beauty sighs,
And ever the dance of dreams goes on;
Where nothing grows old: and the dead and gone,
And the loved and the lost, smile into your eyes.
“Let us wander away! let us wander away!—
Do you hear them calling, ‘Come here and live’?
Do you hear what the trees and the flowers say,
Wonderful, wild, and imperative,
Hushed as the hues of the dawn of day?—
They say, ‘Your life, that was rose and rue,
In a world of shadows where all things die,
Where beauty is dust, and love, a lie,
Is ended. Come! we are waiting for you.’”
And she took my hand: and the trees around
Seemed whispering something I dared not hear;
And the taciturn flowers, that strewed the ground,
Seemed thinking something I felt with fear—
A beautiful something that made no sound.—
And she led me on through the forest old,
Where the moon and the midnight stood on guard,—
Sentinel spirits that shimmered the sward,
Silver and sable and glimmering gold.
And then in a moment I knew.... I knew
What the trees had whispered, the winds had said;
What the flowers had thought in their hearts of dew,
And the stars had syllabled overhead—
And she bent above me and smiled, “’Tis true!
Heart of my heart, you have heard aright.—
Look in my eyes and draw me near!
Look in my face and have no fear!—
Heart of my heart, you died to-night!”
“ROSE LEAVES, WHEN THE ROSE IS DEAD”
See how the rose leaves fall,
The rose leaves fall and fade;
And by the wall, in shade funereal,
How leaf on leaf is laid,
Withered and soiled and frayed!
How red the rose leaves fall—
And in the ancient trees,
That stretch their ghostly arms about the Hall,
Burdened with mysteries,
How sadly sighs the breeze!
How soft the rose leaves fall—
The rose leaves fall and lie!
While over them dull slugs and beetles crawl,
And, palely glimmering by,
The glow-worm trails its eye.
How thick the rose leaves fall,
And strew the garden way!
For snails to slime and spotted toads to sprawl,
And, plodding past each day,
Coarse feet to tread in clay.