Loss
And now the engine slackens pace
And staggers up the mountain side;
And now the depths of night divide
And let a lighter darkness through,
A tangible, dim smoke of blue
That lights the world, and is not Light
Before the dawn, beyond the night.
The vapour clings about the grass
And makes its greenness very green.
Through it the tallest pine-tops pass
Into the night, and are not seen.
A little wind begins to stir,
The haze grows colourless and bright,
Thicker and darker springs the fir.
The train swings slowly up the height.
Each mile more slowly swings the train.
Before the mountains, past the plain.
And through the light that is not day
I feel her now as there she lay
Close in my arms, and still asleep;
Close in my arms, so dear, so dear;
I hold her close, and warm, and near.
Who sleeps where it is cold and deep.
That is my boasted memory;
That,—the impression of a mood,
Effects of light on grass and wood.
Such things as I shall often see.
But Her! God, I may try in vain,
I shall never see her again—
She will never say one new word,
Scarce echo one I often heard.
Even in dreams she is not quite here—
Flitting, escaping still. I fear
Her voice will go, her face be blurred
Wholly, as long year follows year.
198
