Poems

You all have lied

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied who told ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in evey lane,
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thought abide.
There are a hundred places where i fear
To go-so with his memory and entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so I stand sticken, so remembering him.
If you love me dearly. Wherefore I pray you if you love me dearly
Less dear to hold me than your own bright charms.
Whence it mat fall that's until death nearly.
I shall not move to struggle from your arms;
Fade if you must; I would but bid you be
Like the sweet year, doing all things graciously