Poems (Chandler)/Last Year
OU thought, O Love, you loved me then, I know,—
For that I bless you, now when Love is cold,
Remembering how warm the tale you told
When winds of Autumn fitfully did blow,
And by the sea's perpetual ebb and flow
We wandered on together to behold
Noon's radiant splendor, or the sunset's gold,
Or beauty of still nights, when moons hung low.
Your voice grew tender as you called my name,—
I heard that voice to-day,—was it the same?—
The old time's music trembles in it yet:
Your touch thrilled through me like a sudden flame,
And then a sweet and subtle madness came,
And lips, cold now, my lips had quickly met.
H, Love, you must remember, though, to-day,
There is no spell to charm you in the past,—
So dear the dream was that it could not last:
Full soon our pleasant skies were changed to grey,
The sun turned from our barren land away,
And all the leaves swept by us on the blast,
And all our hopes to that wild wind were cast,—
For dead Love's soul there is no place to pray.
But still the old time lives in each our thought,—
In our regretful dreams the old suns rise,
And, from their shining, memory hath caught
Some lingering glory of the glad surprise
When Love rose on us, like the sun, and brought
Our hearts their morning under last year's skies.
LAST YEAR.
I.
OU thought, O Love, you loved me then, I know,—For that I bless you, now when Love is cold,
Remembering how warm the tale you told
When winds of Autumn fitfully did blow,
And by the sea's perpetual ebb and flow
We wandered on together to behold
Noon's radiant splendor, or the sunset's gold,
Or beauty of still nights, when moons hung low.
Your voice grew tender as you called my name,—
I heard that voice to-day,—was it the same?—
The old time's music trembles in it yet:
Your touch thrilled through me like a sudden flame,
And then a sweet and subtle madness came,
And lips, cold now, my lips had quickly met.
II.
H, Love, you must remember, though, to-day,There is no spell to charm you in the past,—
So dear the dream was that it could not last:
Full soon our pleasant skies were changed to grey,
The sun turned from our barren land away,
And all the leaves swept by us on the blast,
And all our hopes to that wild wind were cast,—
For dead Love's soul there is no place to pray.
But still the old time lives in each our thought,—
In our regretful dreams the old suns rise,
And, from their shining, memory hath caught
Some lingering glory of the glad surprise
When Love rose on us, like the sun, and brought
Our hearts their morning under last year's skies.