| When shall I see thee again? Weary the years and so long; When shall be buried the wrong, Phantom-like rising between? Seeking for surcease of pain, Pilgrim to Lethe I came; Drank not, for pride was too keen— Stung by the sound of a name. |
| Soft, ardent skies of my youth Come to me over the sea, Come in a vision to me, Come with your shimmer and song; Ye have known all of the truth, Witness to both shall ye bear; Read me the riddle of wrong, Solve me the cords of the snare. |
| Love is not won in a breath, Idle, impassioned and sure; Why should not love then endure, Challenging doubt to the last? True love is true till the death, Though it bear aloes and myrrh; Try me and judge me, O Past, Have I been true unto her? |
| What should I say if we met, Knowing not which should forbear? E’en if I plead would she care?— Sweet is the refuge of scorn. Close by my side, O Regret Long we have watched for the light! Watchman, what of the morn? Well do we know of the night. |