Classic Poem

I SPEAK to thee, as if thou wouldst reply,
I speak of thee, as if I knew thee near;
This strain of grief is meant to reach thine ear;
And thus, 'twixt soul and sense, perplexedly,
Even in wailing that thou com'st not, I
Turn to thee with my wail. What things appear
Are shadows, and the things unseen are clear.
What may this be that doth intensify
Presence by absence and swell life by death?
Oh, blest, if I thy soul's diviner breath
Have so drawn in that henceforth, I and thou
Are names for one existence, whole and part;
That thou in heaven my being may'st avow,
And I say here — while yet I am, thou art!