What Wailing Wind

What wailing wind of Memory is this
That blows across the Sea of Time to-day,
Blending the fragrance of a long-dead May
With breath of Autumn — agony with bliss?
What phantom lips are these that cling and kiss.
And, kissing, clinging, find old words to say?
What parted days, in sad and glad array,
Rise up to haunt me from the grave's abyss?

Their tones subdue me, and their eyes confound,
So that I may not look from them to where
Each with its special message of despair.
In darkness habited, with darkness crowned.
Come on the days that rend, and will not spare.
Till in Death's sleep I, too, at last am bound.