The Dignity of Sorrow

Ihave not seen you since the shadow fell
From Heaven against your door;
I know not if you bear your sorrow well;
I know but this, — your hearth is cold; your floor
Will feel that soft and gliding tread no more.
ii.
I know our ancient friendship now is over.
I can love still, and so will not complain:
I have not loved in vain;
Taught long that art of sadness to discover
Which draws stern solace from the wells of pain.
You love the dead alone; or you have lost
The power and life of love in Time's untimely frost.
in.
You have stood up in the great Monarch's court.
The court of Death; in spirit you have seen
His lonely shades serene
Where all the mighty men of old resort.
The eyes of Proserpine,
Heavy and black, have rested upon thine.
Her vintage, wine from laurel-berries prest,
You raised — and laid you then the goblet down,
Scared by that Queen's inevitable frown,
Just as the marble touched your panting breast?
O! in the mirror of that prison cold
What Shadow or what Shape did you behold?
IV.
And she is dead: and you have long been dying;
And are recovered, and live on. — O, Friend,
Say, what shall be the end
O leaf-lamenting boughs and wintry sighing?
When will the woods that moan
Resume their green array?
When will the dull, sad clouds be over blown,
And a calm sunset close our stormy day?
v.
My thoughts pursue you still: I call them back:
Once more they seek you, like the birds that rise
Up from the reeds, and in a winding track
Circle the field in which their forage lies; —
Or like some poor and downcast Pensioner,
Depressed and timid though his head be grey,
That moves with curving steps to greet his Lord,
Whom he hath watched all day-
Yet lets him pass away without a word;
And gazes on his footsteps from afar.