Lost Love

I loved her madly. For--so wrought Young Love, divining Isles of Truth Large in the central seas of Youth-- “Love will win love,” I thought.

Once when I brought a rare wild pink To place among her plants, the wise, Soft lifting of her speaking eyes Said more than thanks, I think....

She loved another.--Yes, I know All you would say of woman. You, Like other men, would comfort too.... But then I loved her so.

She loved another.--Ah! too well I know the story of her soul!-- A weary tale the weary whole Of how she loved and fell.

I loved her so!... Remembering now My mad grief then, I wonder why Grief never kills.... I could not die.-- She died--I know not how.

Strange, is it not? For she was dear To me as life once.--A regret She is now; just to make eyes wet And bring a fullness here.

Yet, had she lived as dead in shame As now in death, Love would have used Pride’s pitying pencil and abused The memory of her name.

This helps me thank my God, who led My broken life in sunlight of This pure affection, that my love Lives through her being dead.