Poems

Helen

Dear Helen, if thine earnest eyes,
  So deeply blue, so darkly bright,
Look downward from the azure skies
  That hide thee from my yearning sight:

Think not, because my days go on
  Just as they did when thou wert here,
Sometimes in shade, sometimes in sun,
  From month to month, from year to year,

That I forget thee! Fresh and green
  Over each grave the grass must grow
In God’s good time, and, all unseen,
  The violets take deep root below.

But yet the grave itself remains
  Beneath the verdure and the bloom;
And all kind Nature’s loving pains
  Can but conceal the enduring tomb.

I work, I read, I sing, I smile,
  I train my vines and tend my flowers;
But under thoughts of thee, the while,
  Haunt me through all the passing hours.

And still my heart cries out for thee,
  As it must cry till life is past,
And in some land beyond the sea
  I meet thy clasping hand at last!