Classic Poem

I.

When thou didst speak of death, it seemed to me
The only death would be the loss of thee.

It is not death that hurts, nor wounds nor pain;
This would be death—to see no more again

Thine eyes. There is no other death for me
Now left, O loved one, than the loss of thee.

II.

For I have so completely lost in thine
My life, that now it seemeth no more mine

But just a life that floweth, love, through thee,
As the warm land-stream mingleth with the sea.

Thou art my life; and life means now to me
The life, the beauty, and the love of thee.