Classic Poem

SHE

When Woodham to you no more is near,
You slowly may lose your thought of me.

HE

No, shorter than days that day must be
When I should no more in thought be here.

SHE

Oh! Heed you the wind, that, even now,
From many-tongued streets took up their sound,
And yet, in a little mile of ground,
Has lost it, and soundless fans your brow?
Not so may you lose all I say here?

HE

Not so may I lose it, far or near.
My thought, as the light, may slumber through
The night, but at dawn will wake anew.

SHE

When you may no more have me in view,
Then slowly may cool your love for me.

HE

No, cold must my heart's warm life-stream be,
Before I could e'er be cold to you.

SHE

Oh! See you the stream beside the mill,
Down-rolling in foam as white as snow,
And yet, in a little space below,
It sinks to a level, all but still?
Not so may your yearning love soon die?

HE

Not so may it die, far off or nigh.
My love, as the light, may slumber through
The night, but at dawn will wake anew.

SHE

But what if you rise, as turns the tide
Of fortune, and so look down on me?

HE

Oh! Lost to itself my mind must be,
To slight, in my pride, my highest pride.

SHE

Heed you the smoke, uprolling, grey
In reefs above yonder roof, within
The elm-timber'd grove; and waning thin
In sunshiny air, to melt away?
And so, in your pride, your love may flee.

HE

Not so will it flee, where'er I be.
My love, as the light, may slumber through
The night, but at dawn will wake anew.