Past and Present

When T conceive of things that might have been, —
Of joys that now no God can reinspire.
And all the melancholy years require, —
T turn my face and front my life unseen.
Stately she was, and like an Eastern queen.
Only her soul was as a kindling fire.
She comprehended every heart's desire
And was desire's bound. O matchless mien,

O face of sleeping passion and grave eyes
That grew Love's own when his soul kindled them;
O wide white brows that bore his diadem;
O voice which now no more to mine replies
O sweet, my love, my own in spite of fate, —
Is the lamp quenched, my bride, and am I late?