A Modern Sappho

They are gone: all is still: Foolish heart, dost thou quiver?     Nothing moves on the lawn but the quick lilac shade.     Far up gleams the house, and beneath flows the river.     Here lean, my head, on this cool balustrade.     Ere he come: ere the boat, by the shining-branchd border     Of dark elms come round, dropping down the proud stream;     Let me pause, let me strive, in myself find some order,     Ere their boat-music sound, ere their broiderd flags gleam.     Is it hope makes me linger? the dim thought, that sorrow     Means parting? that only in absence lies pain?     It was well with me once if I saw him: to-morrow     May bring one of the old happy moments again.     Last night we stood earnestly talking together     She enterd, that moment his eyes turnd from me.     Fastend on her dark hair and her wreath of white heather     As yesterday was, so to-morrow will be.     Their love, let me know, must grow strong and yet stronger,     Their passion burn more, ere it ceases to burn:     They must love, while they must: But the hearts that love longer     Are rare: ah! most loves but flow once, and return.     I shall suffer; but they will outlive their affection:     I shall weep; but their love will be cooling: and he,     As he drifts to fatigue, discontent, and dejection,     Will be brought, thou poor heart! how much nearer to thee!     For cold is his eye to mere beauty, who, breaking     The strong band which beauty around him hath furld,     Disenchanted by habit, and newly awaking,     Looks languidly round on a gloom-buried world.     Through that gloom he will see but a shadow appearing,     Perceive but a voice as I come to his side:     But deeper their voice grows, and nobler their bearing.     Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died.     Thento wait. But what notes down the wind, hark! are driving?     Tis he! Tis the boat, shooting round by the trees     Let my turn, if it will come, be swift in arriving!     Ah! hope cannot long lighten torments like these.     Hast thou yet dealt him, O Life, thy full measure?     World, have thy children yet bowd at his knee?     Hast thou with myrtle-leaf crownd him, O Pleasure?     Crown, crown him quickly, and leave him for me.