Away, away! come ye to tear me hence?
If in his life I dared not tell my love,
Awed into silence by his eloquence,
Leave me alone with him, that I may prove
By my wild grief, how wild, and strong, and deep
Was the revering love I bore for him;
My aching eyes, that burn too much to weep,
With unshed tears must be forever dim;
And this rent heart, torn from its lofty trust,
Must, sad and strengthless, sink again to earth,
And, like its idol, mingle with the dust,
From which it rose in its mysterious birth.
O for a single tone of his deep voice,
To linger ever quivering on my ear!
O for one glance of those dark, earnest eyes
To light the gloom of this now joyless sphere!
But thou art still and silent—thou art dead!
I feel what death is now—voiceless and still;
When the bright spirit from the clay is fled—
And thou art thus—motionless, voiceless, chill!
And we were to be wedded—I thy bride;
And I am thine still, even in the tomb;
Though never more triumphant by thy side,
I feel to my hot cheek the quick blood come.
I know our souls are wedded—but to see
Thy face forever hidden from my sight—
Never to hear thy voice—oh, agony!
Would that my spirit, too, might wing its flight.
