Classic Poem

The sweetness dropp'd from the cherry-blooms
Over the sleep that is never stirr'd,
And the twilight droop'd on her purple plumes,
And flutter'd and moan'd, like a dying bird,
Till I hid my face in the scented glooms.

The grasses were damp where the thorns had grown;
The bats flew close to the mouldering staves;
Some wild, white buds, with a windy moan,
Fell with their faces against the graves,
And the moss-veils hung on the broken stone.

Out of the dim and dusky sky
A golden blossoming broke ere long,
And glitter'd and fell on the spring-woods nigh,
Where a dove was hushing her sleepy song;
And we were together, the dead and I.

" The heart above, with its breaking strings,
Wails dissonant music, stormy or slow;
But ah! what a beautiful stillness clings,
Sweet Death, " I said, " to the hearts below,
That are touch'd with the calm of your pallid wings.

" But is memory still where the vanished go? "
Then I thought of a tender dream of the past,
That faded and fell in a passionate woe,
Like a lotus-flower in a poison'd blast;
And I stared in the shadow and said, " You know.

" Come out of your silence once more, and seem
The thing that I loved in the years afar,
While the wild-bird flutters and sings in its dream,
And the yellow bloom of the evening star
Drops, as of old, in the whispering stream. "

You came, and I saw the tremulous breeze
Blow the loose brown hair about your head;
You came, thro' a murmur of melodies;
You came, for love can awaken the dead;
You came, and stood by the cherry-trees.

You came, and your white hand was not cold,
And your quiet eyes, they were not dim;
And we watched the moon-rise dripping with gold,
While the waters chanted a vesper hymn,
And your lip was flush'd with the tales it told.

I could see the wings of the sun's pet birds,
I could hear the delicate sigh of the shells,
And the giant cry of the seas in your words;
Yet others had heard but the distant bells,
And seen but the glimmer of rocks and herds.

I whisper'd like one that is not awake:
" Does sorrow die with our dying breath?
Did it drop from your life like a wounded snake,
When the dust of your beauty was touch'd with death?
Oh, tell me, oh, tell me, for love's sweet sake.

" Say, is memory still, where the vanished go?
Say, Presence out of the spicy zones —
Let your sweet lip whisper the secret low,
While I wait by the mosses and broken stones:
Ah, you hide in your silence, and yet you know. "