XI After Parting
I cannot tell what change hath come to youTo vex your splendid hair. I only knowOne grief. The passion left betwixt us two,Like some forsaken watchfire, burneth low.’Tis sad to turn and find it dying so,Without a hope of resurrection! Yet,O radiant face that found me tired and lone!I shall not for the dear, dead past forgetThe sweetest looks of all the summers gone.Ah! time hath made familiar wild regret;For now the leaves are white in last year’s bowers,And now doth sob along the ruined leasThe homeless storm from saddened southern seas,While March sits weeping over withered flowers.