Orpheus

Where art thou, O where, my love!

Vainly I ask, in vain I weep;

In darkness of the grave I move

Nor wake, nor do I sleep.

I pray thee whisper now to me!

And I will hear by day or night

Thee wandering by the awful sea

Or where dark woods affright;

Whisper, only, to the leaves,

I will catch the lightest strain;

Or if thou stir the rustling sheaves,

Thou wilt ease my pain;

Tell thou but the shaft yon sun

Eastward sends when day is low,

Or the dew whose life is done

With the morning's glow;

I will hear thee, darling, where

Thou art hid, and follow thee!

Dead are all things earthly fair,

Thou alone art life to me.