A Lament
I stand where I last stood with thee!
Sorrow, O sorrow!
There is not a leaf on the trysting-tree;
There is not a joy on the earth to me;
Sorrow, O sorrow!
When shalt thou be once again what thou wert?
Oh, the sweet yesterdays fled from the heart!
Have they a morrow?—
Here we stood, ere we parted, so close side by side;
Two lives that once part, are as ships that divide
When, moment on moment, there rushes between
The one and the other, a sea;—
Ah, never can fall from the days that have been
A gleam on the years that shall be!