WHO would have thought That, not having missed her Talks, tears, laughter In absence, or sought To recall for so long Her gamut of song; Or ever to waft her Signal of aught That she, fancy-fanned, Would well understand, I should have kissed her Picture when scanned Yawning years after! Yet, seeing her poor Dim-outlined form Chancewise at night-time, Some old allure Came on me, warm, Fresh, pleadful, pure, As in that bright time At a far season Of love and unreason, And took me by storm Here in this blight-time! And thus it arose That, yawning years after Our early flows Of wit and laughter, And framing of rhymes At idle times, At sight of her painting, Though she lies cold In churchyard mould, I took its feinting As real, and kissed it, As if I had wist it Herself of old. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO COLE, THE PAINTER, DEPARTING FOR EUROPE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT ACCOUNTABILITY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR WHERE SHALL THE BABY'S DIMPLE BE? by JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND THE MILKMAID by JEFFREYS TAYLOR COME UNTO ME by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |