Poems (Allen)/Lost Light
Y heart is chilled and my pulse is slow, But often and often will memory go, Like a blind child lost in a waste of snow, Back to the days when I loved you so,— The beautiful long ago.
LOST LIGHT.
Y heart is chilled and my pulse is slow, But often and often will memory go, Like a blind child lost in a waste of snow, Back to the days when I loved you so,— The beautiful long ago. I sit here, dreaming them through and through, The blissful moments I shared with you,— The sweet, sweet days when our love was new, When I was trustful and you were true,— Beautiful days, but few.
Blest or wretched, fettered or free, Why should I care how your life may be, Or whether you wander by land or sea? I only know you are dead to me, Ever and hopelessly.
O, how often at day's decline, I pushed from my window the curtaining vine, To see from your lattice the lamplight shine,— Type of a message that, half divine, Flashed from your heart to mine.
Once more the starlight is silvering all; The roses sleep by the garden wall, The night-bird warbles his madrigal, And I hear again through the sweet air fall The evening bugle-call.
But summers will vanish and years will wane, And bring no light to your window-pane; Nor gracious sunshine nor patient rain, Can bring dead love back to life again: I call up the past in vain.
My heart is heavy, my heart is old, And that proves dross which I counted gold; I watch no longer your curtain's fold, The window is dark and the night is cold, And the story forever told.