My sun has set, I dwell
In darkness as a dead man out of sight;
And none remains, not one, that I should tell
To him mine evil plight
This bitter night.
I will make fast my door
That hollow friends may trouble me no more.

'Friend, open to Me.' - Who is this that calls?
Nay, I am deaf as are my walls:
Cease crying, for I will not hear
Thy cry of hope or fear.
Others were dear,
Others forsook me: what art thou indeed
That I should heed
Thy lamentable need?
Hungry should feed,
Or stranger lodge thee here?

'Friend, My Feet bleed.
Open thy door to Me and comfort Me.'
I will not open, trouble me no more.
Go on thy way footsore,
I will not rise and open unto thee.

'Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see
Who stands t...

My head is wild with weeping for a grief
Which is the shadow of a gentle mind.
I walk into the air (but no relief
To seek, - or haply, if I sought, to find;
It came unsought); - to wonder that a chief
Among men's spirits should be cold and blind.

    Go, get thee gone. I love thee not, I swear;
    And if I lov'd thee well in days gone by,
    And if I kiss'd, and trifled with thy hair,
    And crown'd my love, to prove the same a lie,
    My doom is this: my joy was quick to die.
    The chain of custom in the drowsy lair
    Of some slain vision, is a weight to bear,
    And both abhorr'd it, - thou as well as I.
    Ah, God! 'tis tearful true; and I repent;
    And like a dead, live man I live for this: -
    To stand, unvalued, on a dream's abyss,
    And be my own most piteous monument.
    What! did I rob thee, Lady, of a kiss?
    There, take it back; and frown; and be content!

Fare thee well--we part for ever!
    All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
    Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Other skies may bend above thee,
    Other hearts may seek thy shrine,
But no other e'er will love thee
    With the constancy of mine.
Yet farewell--we part for ever!
    All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
    Ne'er to meet on earth again.
                    Fare thee well!

Like the shadow on the dial
    Lingers still our parting kiss!
Life has no severer trial,
    Death no pang to equal this.
All the world is now before thee,
    Every clime to roam at will,
But within the land that bore thee,
    One fond heart will love thee still.
Yet farewell--we part for ever!

Heart, you are restless as a paper scrap
That's tossed down dusty pavements by the wind;
Saying, "She is most wise, patient and kind.
Between the small hands folded in her lap
Surely a shamed head may bow down at length,
And find forgiveness where the shadows stir
About her lips, and wisdom in her strength,
Peace in her peace. Come to her, come to her!" . . .

She will not care. She'll smile to see me come,
So that I think all Heaven in flower to fold me.
She'll give me all I ask, kiss me and hold me,
And open wide upon that holy air
The gates of peace, and take my tiredness home,
Kinder than God. But, heart, she will not care.

One asked of regret,
And I made reply:
To have held the bird,
And let it fly;
To have seen the star
For a moment nigh,
And lost it
Through a slothful eye;
To have plucked the flower
And cast it by;
To have one only hope -
To die.

I

Ah, yes, 't is sweet still to remember,
Though 'twere less painful to forget;
For while my heart glows like an ember,
Mine eyes with sorrow's drops are wet,
And, oh, my heart is aching yet.
It is a law of mortal pain
That old wounds, long accounted well,
Beneath the memory's potent spell,
Will wake to life and bleed again.

So 't is with me; it might be better
If I should turn no look behind,--
If I could curb my heart, and fetter
From reminiscent gaze my mind,
Or let my soul go blind--go blind!
But would I do it if I could?
Nay! ease at such a price were spurned;
For, since my love was once returned,
All that I suffer seemeth good.

I know, I know it is the fashion,
When love has left some heart distressed,
To weight...

He found the road so long and lone
That he was fain to turn again.
The bird's faint note, the bee's low drone
Seemed to his heart to monotone
The unavailing and the vain,
And dirge the dreams that life had slain.
And for a while he sat him there
Beside the way, and bared his head:
He felt the hot sun on his hair;
And weed-warm odors everywhere
Waked memories, forgot or dead,
Of days when love this way had led
To that old house beside the road
With white board-fence and picket gate,
And garden plot that gleamed and glowed
With color, and that overflowed
With fragrance; where, both soon and late,
She 'mid the flowers used to wait.
Was it the same? or had it changed,
As he and she, with months and years?
How long now had they been estranged?

A scene, which 'wildered fancy viewed
In the soul's coldest solitude,
With that same scene when peaceful love
Flings rapture's colour o'er the grove,
When mountain, meadow, wood and stream
With unalloying glory gleam,
And to the spirit's ear and eye
Are unison and harmony.
The moonlight was my dearer day;
Then would I wander far away,
And, lingering on the wild brook's shore
To hear its unremitting roar,
Would lose in the ideal flow
All sense of overwhelming woe;
Or at the noiseless noon of night
Would climb some heathy mountain's height,
And listen to the mystic sound
That stole in fitful gasps around.
I joyed to see the streaks of day
Above the purple peaks decay,
And watch the latest line of light
Just mingling with the shades of ni...

And is it true indeed, and must you go,
Set out alone across that moorland track,
No love avail, though we have loved you so,
No voice have any power to call you back?
And losing hands stretch after you in vain,
And all our eyes grow empty for your lack,
Nor hands, nor eyes, know aught of you again.

Dear friend, I shed no tear while yet you stayed,
Nor vexed your soul with unavailing word,
But you are gone, and now can all be said,
And tear and sigh too surely fall unheard.
So long I kept for you an undimmed eye,
Surely for grief this hour may well be spared,
Though could you know I still must keep it dry.

For what can tears avail you? the spring rain
That softly pelts the lattice, as with flowers,
Will of its tears a daisied counterpane
Weave...

"A red rose for my helmet,
And a word before we part!
The rose shall be my oriflamme
The word shall fill my heart."
Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart--
Just a look, just a word and a look!
A look or a sign that my love shall divine
And a word for my hungering heart!

She toyed with his love and her roses;
Was it mischief or mischance?--
She dropped him a rose--'twas a white one,
And he lifted it on his lance.
Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!
Is it thus--is it thus we part?
With never a look, and never a sign,
Nor a word for my hungering heart!

She sought him among the dying,
She found him among the dead;
And the rose was still in his helmet.
But his life had stained it red.
Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!
Now...