Love
Lost
From Beatrice and Other Poems (1868)
With evening hued like autumn leaves
The porch is fair, still sleeps the air,
She comes through yonder light and weaves
Flowers as I loved them in her hair.
This is her hour, from yonder groves
She comes to me, upon my knee ;
You'll know her, for whene'er she moves,
For joy she sings like bird or bee.
The butterfly in glory lit
With pulsing wings on flower that swings
Caught in her shadow will not flit,
So sweet the trouble that she brings.
The redbreast sidling shy to peck
Wee crumbs that fill the window sill,
Who timorous veers a tiny neck.
From her pink palm sips tame and still.
I only watched in church with her
Through ivy stream the flickerinc beam.
Upon her sweet slim feet to stir
And dally in a fond day-dream.
Her singing never took by storm
The listless ear, the stranger's ear,
Yet hymns of seraph could not warm
My heart like her frail accents near.
I would to all fair sights that stir
In earth and sky be blind for aye
For one more far-off glimpse of her.
Scarce lovely to the loveless eye.
And when among the crowds I move
Some air or dress, some tone or tress.
That savours of my own lost love
Will draw me doting through the press,
To find a stranger and dispel.
And make to fleet, the glamour sweet.
Fond glamour known for dream too well,
More dear than all the friends I meet.
With whisper of her mellowing grain,
With treble of brook and bird and tree.
Earth joys for ever to sustain
The bass eternal of the sea.
And years flushed o'er with flowers of bliss
Dance every one from shade to sun,
Fresh youths and maidens yearn to kiss,
As we have done, O little one !
I lipped the joy, now yield my place.
For me no more kind years may pour.
Who only want one meeklit face,
One face gone out for evermore !
But why, ah why ! when day burns low
Doth that sweet hum still faintly come.
As of sweet talk that used to flow
Through her closed door to my lone room ?
Poor fool ! 'tis but the nmmbling wind
That talks like her, nor means to jeer ;
For subtler wind are love and mind,
.And she but wind who nestled here !
Cite this poem
MLA
Noel, Roden. “Lost.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/noel_r/7/.
Chicago
Noel, Roden. “Lost.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/noel_r/7/.
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