Love's voice

Love, felt from afar, long sought, scarce found,

On thee I call;

Here where with silvery silent sound,

The smooth oars fall;

Here where the glimmering water-ways,

Above yon stair,

Mirror one trembling lamp that plays

In twilight air!

What sights, what sounds, O poignant Love

Ere thou wert flown,

Quivered these darksome waves above,

In darkness known!

I dare not dream thereof; the sting

Of those dead eyes

Is too acute and close a thing

For one who dies.

Only I feel through glare and gloom,

Where yon lamp falls,

Dim spectres hurrying to their doom,

And love's voice calls:

'Twas better thus toward death to glide,

Soul-full of bliss

Than with long life unsatisfied

Life's crown to miss.