6. Absence

In this fair stranger's eyes of grey Thine eyes, my love! I see. I shiver; for the passing day Had borne me far from thee.

This is the curse of life! that not A nobler, calmer train Of wiser thoughts and feelings blot Our passions from our brain;

But each day brings its petty dust Our soon-choked souls to fill, And we forget because we must And not because we will.

I struggle towards the light; and ye, Once-long'd-for storms of love! If with the light ye cannot be, I bear that ye remove.

I struggle towards the light--but oh, While yet the night is chill, Upon time's barren, stormy flow, Stay with me, Marguerite, still!