Thy Birthday

To-day it is thy birthday; but we twain
Are not together as in days gone by, —
Silence and darkness gird thee round, and I
Apart from thee for a brief while remain.
Some little joy; perhaps some strange new pain;
Some doubt; some wonder, — then my spirit's cry
To which my bitter singing made reply,
Shall cease, and leave me what the gods ordain.

What that may be, indeed, we cannot know:
Silence and patient night, methinks; and yet
No man can surely say that this is so.
Thy heart to-day may on past days be set,
Even as mine is, wandering to and fro
In sunset lands where tongueless ghosts are met.