To Sylvia

"O love, lean thou thy cheek to mine,

And let the tears together flow"—

Such was the song you sang to me

       Once, long ago.

Such was the song you sang; and yet

(O be not wroth!) I scarcely knew

What sounds flow'd forth; I only felt

       That you were you.

I scarcely knew your hair was gold,

Nor of the heavens' own blue your eyes.

Sylvia and song, divinely mixt,

       Made Paradise.

These things I scarcely knew; to-day,

When love is lost and hope is fled,

The song you sang so long ago

       Rings in my head.

Clear comes each note and true; to-day,

As in a picture I behold

Your tur'd-up chin, and small, sweet head

       Misty with gold.

I see how your dear eyes grew deep,

How your lithe body thrilled and swayed,

And how were whiter than the keys

       Your hands that played. . .

Ah, sweetest! cruel have you been,

And robbed my life of many things.

I will not chide; ere this I knew

       That Love had wings.

You've robbed my life of many things—

Of love and hope, of fame and pow'r.

So be it, sweet. You cannot steal

       One golden hour.