Classic Poem

The Spring is here, but she is gone from me.
How shall I bear the bitter banishment?
I miss her eyes ... her golden hair ... I see
No beauty in the day, since her soul went
Alone into the strange dim lands of death. . . .

Flowers with uplifted laughing faces stand
In silent scentful clusters, birds are heard
Trilling among the leaves. . . . I lift my hand
And press it to my forehead ... not a word
Escapes my lips ... I struggle with my breath,
In dreams I meet my loved one, but a change
Has touched her semblance, she is ivory pale,
And in her great blue eyes shines something strange —
Is it the light of God? — that like a veil
Divides us when our souls touch lips in sleep ...

I wrote a book in praise of her last year,
She holds it still. Her hair is like a flame. . . .
Her plaintive mouth pleads mutely ... but I hear
That clear voice never ... though I call her name
Each night, all night ... and then I wake and weep.