To a Tune

O wild, sweet tune, of which ray soul is fain.
Through the loud sound of sea and tempest heard.
Like the low moan of a wind-driven bird, —
O sad. sweet tune! O passionate, wild strain!
Full of past joy, dead hope, and present pain, —
Once more I catch thee, and my heart is stirr'd.
Stung sharply by that one great, simple word,
Gone as a dream that shall not come again.

Once more I see my lady's warm, flushed face;
See her deep amorous eyes, and swept back hair;
Yea, hear the tender sobbing of her breath.
O tune, made sad with all sweet things that were!
O tune, keep back, or quite restore those days,
That, past, crown life, or break our wills for death