Classic Poem

T HERE'S a stillness in the stars,
And a sleep upon the earth,
And the day with all its jars
Is a dead jest, void of mirth.
And my heart is breaking, Sweet,
With the memory of that hour,
When our happiness complete
Sprang and blossomed like a flower.

Never shall we be the same,
Chance hath ordered otherwise;
Hope with me is but a name
Thrilled with mem'ries of your eyes.
O that ‘never,’ when 'tis spoken,
Lays the trusting spirit prone
With its dreams and glories broken,
Like a ruined arch alone!

How this silence all around me
Weighs upon the wearied heart,
All the gentle bonds that bound me
Snap and wake me with a start;
Not an answer to my sorrow
Doth thy presence Nature give,
And awakening with the morrow
I shall know 'tis death to live.