To A Lost Love

I cannot look upon thy grave,         Though there the rose is sweet:     Better to hear the long wave wash         These wastes about my feet!     Shall I take comfort? Dost thou live         A spirit, though afar,     With a deep hush about thee, like         The stillness round a star?     Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere         Thou art a thing apart,     Losing in saner happiness         This madness of the heart.     And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel         A passing breath, a pain;     Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven         Had oped and closed again.     And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns,         The solemn hymns, shall cease;     A moment half remember me:         Then turn away to peace.     But oh, for evermore thy look,         Thy laugh, thy charm, thy tone,     Thy sweet and wayward earthliness,         Dear trivial things, are gone!     Therefore I look not on thy grave,         Though there the rose is sweet;     But rather hear the loud wave wash         These wastes about my feet.