At memories of to-day—we two content
To count our vanished dawns by candle-light
Seeing we hold in our old hands the while
The gift of gold youth left us as she went.
God send thee peace, Oh, great unhappy heart—
A world away, I pray that thou mayst rest
Softly as on the Well-Belovèd's breast,
Where ever in her wistful dreams thou art.