Classic Poem

There's a clasp upon my fingers,
There's a kiss upon my brow,
In my ear Love's breathing lingers, —
But, alas, it is not thou!
Since I walk no more with thee,
O, the days have come to be
Dreary, dreary unto me; —
Best beloved, where art thou?

In these sweet, prophetic mornings,
When the brown buds load the bough,
And the air brings summer warnings,
All my heart cries, " Where art thou? "
Still my heart, forevermore
Yearning toward the misty shore,
Keeps repeating o'er and o'er,
" Best beloved, where art thou? "

When my soul grows faint with pining,
And at death's behest I bow.
On some kindly breast reclining
I shall sigh, " Would it were thou!
Unforgotten, dearest, best,
Would that thy most faithful breast
Could have pillowed my last rest, —
O beloved, were it thou! "

Gentle voices breathe around me
Words with fondest meaning blent;
Love's most tender care has crowned me
With all blessings but content;
O the blessed days of old!
O the love too long untold!
O the years so dark and cold,
And their burden, " Were it thou! "