The Immortal

Child of a love denied, a dream unborn,

Spirit more brave

Than passion's unfulfilment, wiser than fate —

Nor breast nor grave

As cradle you have known,—

I mourn

That my soul knows its own

Too late!

A soul's half-breath,

Passion's unremembered dream,

Perfume without a vase,

Intangible you seem

To life or death.

And when the coloured mantle of the days

Slips from my shoulders, and I lie

Forgetful, dumb,

Mingled with earth in passionless embrace,

Will you, forgotten as a bird,

Singing unheard

In space,

Will you not come

When every other dream is gone,

Bringing to that silent place

The shadow of a gesture flung

By motionless hands, a floating echo hung

From an unspoken word,

And to the empty sky

The sunset of a day which did not dawn

And cannot die!