THAT was love that I had before Years ago, when my heart was young ; Ev'ry smile was a gem you wore ; Ev'ry word was a sweet song sung. You came -- all my pulses burn'd and beat. (O sweet wild throbs of an early day !) You went -- with the last dear sound of your feet The light wax'd dim and the place grew grey. And I us'd to pace with a stealthy tread By a certain house which is under a hill ; A cottage stands near, wall'd white, roof'd red -- Tall trees grow thick -- I can see it still ! How I us'd to watch with a hope that was fear For the least swift glimpse of your gown's dear fold ! (You wore blue gowns in those days, my dear -- One light for summer, one dark for cold.) Tears and verses I shed for you in show'rs ; I would have staked my soul for a kiss ; Tribute daily I brought you of flow'rs, Rose, lily, your favourite eucharis. There came a day we were doomed to part ; There's a queer, small gate at the foot of a slope : We parted there -- and I thought my heart Had parted for ever from love and hope. Is it love that I have to-day ? Love, that bloom'd early, has it bloom'd late For me, that, clothed in my spirit's grey, Sit in the stillness and stare at Fate ? Song nor sonnet for you I've penned, Nor passionate paced by your home's wide wall I have brought you never a flow'r, my friend, Never a tear for your sake let fall. And yet -- and yet -- ah, who understands ? We men and women are complex things ! A hundred tunes Fate's inexorable hands May play on the sensitive soul-strings. Webs of strange patterns we weave (each owns) From colour and sound; and like unto these, Soul has its tones and its semitones, Mind has its major and minor keys. Your face (men pass it without a word) It haunts my dreams like an odd, sweet strain ; When your name is spoken my soul is stirr'd In its deepest depths with a dull, dim pain. I paced, in the damp grey mist, last night In the streets (an hour) to see you pass : Yet I do not think that I love you -- quite ; What's felt so finely 'twere coarse to class. And yet -- and yet -- I scarce can tell why (As I said, we are riddles and hard to read), If the world went ill with you, and I Could help with a hidden hand your need ; But, ere I could reach you where you lay, Must strength and substance and honour spend ; Journey long journeys by night and day -- Somehow, I think I should come, my friend ! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY FOR AN ENEMY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE FAT LADY by HAYDEN CARRUTH CAESAR'S LOST TRANSPORT SHIPS by ROBERT FROST A POEM FROM THE EDGE OF AMERICA by JAMES GALVIN ON A PALMETTO by SIDNEY LANIER WAITER IN A CALIFORNIA VIETNAMESE RESTURANT by CLARENCE MAJOR |