When Lesser Loves

When lesser loves by the relentless flow
Of mighty currents from my arms were torn
And swept, unheeding, to that silent bourn
Whose mystic shades no living man may know,
By night, by day, I sang my songs; and so,
Out of the sackcloth that my soul had worn,
Weaving my purple, I forgot to mourn,
Pouring my grief out in melodious woe!
Now am I dumb, dear heart. My lips are mute.
Yet if from yonder blue height thou dost lean
Earthward, remembering love’s last wordless kiss,
Know thou no trembling thrills of harp or lute,
Dying soft wails and tender songs between,
Were half so voiceful as this silence is!