Love's Shrines

All places that have known my love at all
Have grown as sympathetic friends to me,
And each for song has some dear memory;
Some perfume of her presence clings to all;
How then to me, O love, shall it befall,
When I no longer in my life shall see
The places that through love have grown to be
Of buried dreams the mute memorial?

Then surely shall I seem as one who stands
Exiled from home in unfamiliar lands.
And strains, across the weary sea and long.
His desolate sad eyes, and wrings his hands,
While round him press an undiscerning throng
Of strange men talking in an alien tongue.