V. Time's Prisoner
Time was, beloved, when from this far-off place
My words could reach thee, and thine own reply —
Now thou art gone, and my heart's longing cry
Pursues thee, as some runner runs his race —
Cleaves like a bird the emptiness of space,
And falls back, baffled, from the pitiless sky
Ah, why with thee, so dear, did I not die?
Why should I live benighted of thy face?
Thou wilt have sped so far before I come —
How shall I ever win to where thou art?
Or, if I find thee, shall I not be dumb —
With voiceless longing break my silent heart?
Nay! Surely thou wilt read mine eyes, and know
That for thy sake all heaven I would forego.
My words could reach thee, and thine own reply —
Now thou art gone, and my heart's longing cry
Pursues thee, as some runner runs his race —
Cleaves like a bird the emptiness of space,
And falls back, baffled, from the pitiless sky
Ah, why with thee, so dear, did I not die?
Why should I live benighted of thy face?
Thou wilt have sped so far before I come —
How shall I ever win to where thou art?
Or, if I find thee, shall I not be dumb —
With voiceless longing break my silent heart?
Nay! Surely thou wilt read mine eyes, and know
That for thy sake all heaven I would forego.
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