Poems (Greenwood)/To ———
For works with similar titles, see To —.
TO ———.
We never met; yet to my soul Thy name hath been a voice of singing, And ever to thy glorious lays The echoes of my heart are ringing.
We never met; yet is thy face, Thy pictured face, before me now; Strangely, like life, I almost see The dark curls wave upon thy brow!
This face reveals that poet-life, Still deepening, still rising higher, A breathing from thy soul of song, A glow from out thy heart of fire!
And yet, unlike thy portraiture I would thy living face might be, For ever, as I gaze on this, Thine eyes are turned away from me.