Poetry Archives

And so we twain must part!  Oh linger yet,
  Let me still feed my glance upon thine eyes.
Forget not, love, the days of our delight,
  And I our nights of bliss shall ever prize.
In dreams thy shadowy image I shall see,
  Oh even in my dream be kind to me!

Though I were dead, I none the less would hear
  Thy step, thy garment rustling on the sand.
And if thou waft me greetings from the grave,
  I shall drink deep the breath of that cold land.
Take thou my days, command this life of mine,
  If it can lengthen out the space of thine.

No voice I hear from lips death-pale and chill,
  Yet deep within my heart it echoes still.
My frame remains—my soul to thee yearns forth.
  A shadow I must tarry still on earth.
Back to the body dwelling here in pain,
  Return, my soul, make haste and come again!