Classic Poem

I F you were dead, Love — what would Life be then?
The south-west wind — the breathing balm — the sweet,
Still fragrant, freshness of the morning — when
The first bird calls and dawn's swift-sailing fleet
Sweeps past the head-lands of the sky's wide sea;
What touch of cheer could all these bring to me
If you were dead?

If you were dead, Love — and this blissful field,
New-greening now from soft September's rain,

Could know your step no more — what could it yield
But pain — wild — unimaginable pain!
How would this woodland's quiet crush me down
And these dear leaves, that with unconscious art
In gold and scarlet deck the hill-side brown
And pave the pathway to the upland wold,
How would they fill my soul with pangs untold
And wake the voiceless anguish in my heart —
If you were dead?

If you were dead, where should my spirit turn,
Midst all the harvests of the world to glean
One slender sheaf of comfort — poor and mean
Would seem ambition's quest. How could I burn
Life's lamp out — seeking — when you could not share
The fabled wreath — to crown my own despair,
If you were dead?

If you were dead, the violets in the grass
Would be your eyes beseeching me with tears;
Your soul on every wayward breath would pass
And sigh — forget not me . — As one who hears,
Surprised, the voice which most he loved on earth
And feels his heart stand still, yet can not tell
The sudden pain from joy — so would the mirth
Of Spring-time songsters greet me from the dell.

The brook would murmur nothing but your name
The rose could only bring your cheek's soft blush
Or mad me with the lips my own had pressed;
And when the full tide of the summer came,
Nor in the mead — nor on the dappled lea,
Could I find bud or bloom that would not be
The blossoms you had worn upon your breast.
Alas! what longing would come over me
To be in Death's dim land — with thee — at rest —
If you were dead.