ASK me not, love, what can be in my heart: While gazing on thee sudden tear-drops start, When only smiles should brighten where thou art. The human heart is compassed by fears; And joy is tremulous -- for it inspheres A vapoury star which melts away in tears. I am too happy for a careless mirth; Hence, thoughts the sweet, yet sorrowful, have birth: -- Who looks from heaven is half return'd to earth. I feel the weakness of my love -- its care; How deep, how true, how passionate soe'er, It cannot keep one sorrow from thy share. How powerless is my fond anxiety! I feel I could lay down my life for thee; Yet know how vain such sacrifice must be! Ah, the sweet present! -- should it not suffice? Not to humanity which vainly tries To lift the curtain that may never rise! Hence do we tremble in our happiness; Hurried and dim the unknown moments press; -- We question of the grief we cannot guess. The Future is more present than the Past: For one look back, a thousand on we cast; And hope doth ever memory outlast. For hope, say fear. Hope is a timid thing, Fearful and weak, and born 'mid suffering; -- At least, such hope as our sad earth can bring. Its home, it is not here, it looks beyond; And while it carries an enchanter's wand, Its spells are conscious of their earthly bond. We almost fear the presence of our joy; It doth tempt Fate, the stern one, to destroy, Fate in whose hands this world is as a toy. We dearly buy our pleasures, we repay By some deep suffering; or they decay Or change to pain, and curse us by their stay. A world of ashes is beneath our feet -- Cold ashes of each beautiful deceit, Owned by long silent hearts, that beat as ours now beat. How can we trust our own? we waste our breath; We heap up hope and joy in one bright wreath; -- Our altar is the grave -- our priest is death. But, ah! death is repose; -- 'tis not our doom, The cold, the calm, that haunts my soul with gloom: I tremble at the passage to the tomb. Love mine -- what depths of misery may lie In the dark future? -- I may meet thine eye, Cold, careless, and estranged, before I die. All grief is possible, and some is sure; How can the loving heart e'er feel secure, And e'er it breaks it may so much endure? We had not lived had the past been foreshown; Ah! merciful the shadow round us thrown. -- Thank heaven, the future is at least unknown! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO PROMENADES SENTIMENTALES: 1. RAIN by EDITH SITWELL ON DEATH, WITHOUT EXAGGERATION by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA WILLIAM AND HELEN by GOTTFRIED AUGUST BURGER ON AN INVITATION TO THE UNITED STATES by THOMAS HARDY SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 2 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON PSALM 119 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 103. WRITTEN AT FLORENCE: 1 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |