To a Lost Love

I CANNOT look upon thy grave,
Though there the rose is sweet:
Better to hear the long wave wash
These wastes about my feet!

Shall I take comfort? Dost thou live
A spirit, though afar,
With a deep hush about thee, like
The stillness round a star?

Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere
Thou art a thing apart,
Losing in saner happiness
This madness of the heart.

And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel
A passing breath, a pain;
Disturb’d, as though a door in heaven
Had sped and closed again.

And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns
The solemn hymns, shall cease;
A moment half remember me:
Then turn away in peace.

But oh! forevermore thy look,
Thy laugh, thy charm, thy tone,
Thy sweet and wayward loveliness,
Dear trivial things are gone!

Therefore I look not on thy grave,
Though there the rose is sweet;
But rather hear the loud wave wash
These wastes about my feet.

Stephen Phillips.