Classic Poem

If tho' alone I scarce do sigh
Because thy spirit stayeth by,
Think what it were if thou wert near,
If thou wert here.

Within the sweet-aired mountain town
So far, so strange, so all our own,—
Why makest thou so long delay
So far away?

The waters tumbling make a sound
Of all our joys that fall to ground;
The stars shine to the uttermost
Of what we lost.

If some one only happy be
For this our narrowed destiny!
If some one draw a gladder breath
Out of our death.