I.
WHAT that dead summer was my heart knows well— Knows all it held—sad joy, and joyous pain— For pain or joy it cannot come again, With bitter sweetness we alone could tell:— Time, when I only thought to say farewell, To break the links of Love's long-during chain— That I the stars should pass, and you remain, Held fast to earth by some malignant spell.
Procession of long days, and longer nights— When suns rose mocking, and the moon was cold— When Hope and I lay dying, as I thought, Still could I bless Love's vanishing delights, And reach pale hands to clasp him as of old, Though each dread hour with Death's dismay was fraught.