Presentiment

When, after parting long and sore, we twain
Met, and stood soul to soul as face to face,
While yet her hand in mine was, and her gaze
Made the blood burn and leap through every vein,
When thus, 'twixt risen joy and fallen pain.
We stood with Love in his own time and place,
My soul had foresight of the coming days
When, parted, we should never meet again.

O days expected long, and are ye here?
Come ye with clouded brows and eyes austere,
Or with blithe faces making glad the sight, —
I know your song for curse, your laugh for jeer:
Which, then, is worse, — your mockery of light,
Or the dumb darkness of the hopeless night?