Classic Poem

I stood again within the garden old
Around whose edges grew the tall green box;
I saw again the winding, narrow, paths
So gay along their sides with pink sea shells;
I saw the holly-hocks so tall and prim
The humble sun-flower bowing 'neath the sun,
The mignonette and gay geranium,
The heliotrope and baby's breath so pure;
I saw the summer house with roses overgrown,
The quaint, old, bench whereon we used to sit
Day-dreaming hand in hand of times to come,
And on the bench I saw thee idly sit
The distaff at thy side all silent stood
(Thy listless hands forgetful of their stint)
Thy fair, dear, head was tilted slightly back
Against the bench's quaint and aged side,
Thine eyes half-closed, and sweet lips gravely set,
And then I stole up all noiseless and unseen,
And kissed those eyes so dreamy and so sad — I
Ah God! if I might once again see all
Thy soul leap in their depths as then
So hungry with long waiting and so true,
I clasp thee close within my yearning arms
I kiss thine eyes, thy lips, thy silky hair,
I felt thy soft arms twining round my neck
Thy bashful, maiden, kisses on my cheek,
My whole heart leaping 'neath such wondrous joy —

And then the vision faded and was gone
And I was in my lonely, darkened, room
The old-time longing surging in my breast,
The old-time agony within my soul
As fresh, as new, as when I kissed thy lips
So cold, with frenzy begging thee to speak,
Believing not that thou wert lying dead.

Yes, lying dead these many, weary, years;
And when I push my darkened casement wide,
And gaze beyond the sleeping town of Life
Unto that town of Death upon the hill,
I see with streaming tears that vainly fall,
The Plain, white, stone that marks the spot she sleeps.