Parted Love

What shall be said of this embattled day And armed occupation of this night By all thy foes beleaguered,--now when sight Nor sound denotes the loved one far away? Of these thy vanquished hours what shalt thou say,-- As every sense to which she dealt delight Now labours lonely o'er the stark noon-height To reach the sunset's desolate disarray?

Stand still, fond fettered wretch! while Memory's art Parades the Past before thy face, and lures Thy spirit to her passionate portraitures: Till the tempestuous tide-gates flung apart Flood with wild will the hollows of thy heart, And thy heart rends thee, and thy body endures.