And your unwritten page so full of thought!
Each time they do not come your letters bring
A chaos of conjecture, gathering
Its forces like mad winds, ’till I am caught—
And swept—and swept into an agony.
Ah, ruinous silence that awakes such stress!
The noisy thunders of my heart suppress
The frail, pale music of my memory.
VI.
How long! How long, great God, must I regret