II.
This was the end love made,—the hard-drawn breath,
The last long sigh that ever man sighs here;
And then for us, the great unanswered fear,
Will love live on,—the other side of death?
Only a year, and I had hoped to spend
A life of pleasant communing, to be
A kindred spirit holding fast to thee,
We never thought that love had such an end.
This was the end love made, for our delight,
For one sweet year he cannot take away;—
Those tapers burning in the dim half-light,
Those kneeling women with a cross that pray,
And there, beneath green leaves and lilies white,
Beyond the reach of love, our loved one lay.
III.
He had the poet’s eyes,
—Sing to him sleeping,—
Sweet grace of low replies,
—Why are we weeping?
He had the gentle ways,
—Fair dreams befall him!—
Beauty through all his days,
—Then why recall him?—
That which in him was fair
Still shall be ours:
Yet, yet my heart lies there
Under the flowers.