'Tis sixteen years since, trustful, unafraid,
In her full noon of light,
She passed beneath the grass's curtaining shade,
Out of our mortal sight;
And springs and summers, bearing gifts to men,
And long, long winters have gone by since then.
And each some little gift has brought to dress
That unforgotten bed,—
Violet, anemone, or lady's-tress,
Or spray of berries red,
Or purpling leaf, or mantle, pure and cold,
Of winnowed snow, wrapped round it, fold on fold.
Yet still she stands, a glad and radiant shape,
Set in the morning fair,—
That vanished morn which had such swift escape.
I turn and see her there,—
The arch, sweet smile, the bending, graceful head;
And, seeing thus, why do I call her dead?
WHEN LOVE WENT.
What whispered Love the day he fled?
Ah! this was what Love whispered;
"You sought to hold me with a chain;
I fly to prove such holding vain.
"You bound me burdens, and I bore
The burdens hard, the burdens sore;
I bore them all unmurmuring,
For Love can bear a harder thing.
"You taxed me often, teased me, wept;
I only smiled, and still I kept
Through storm and sun and night and day,
My joyous, viewless, faithful way.
"But, dear, once dearest, you and I
This day have parted company.
Love must be free to give, defer,
Himself alone his almoner.
"As free I freely poured my all,
Enslaved I spurn, renounce my thrall,
Its wages and its bitter bread."
Thus whispered Love the day he fled!