Belles-Lettres

Time does not bring relief, you all have lied. Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from the every mountain-side, And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year's bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide! There are a hundred places where I fear To go, --so with his memory they brim! 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 stand stricken, so remembering him!

Lament Life must go on, And the dead be forgotten; Life must go on, Though good men die;(...) Life must go on; I forget just why.

Well, I have lost you and I lost you fairly; In my own way, and with my full consent, Say what you will kings in a tumbril rarely Went to their deaths more proud than this one went. Some night of apprehension and hot weeping I will confess; but that's permitted me: Day dried my eyes; I was not one for keeping Rubbed in a cage a wing that would be free. If I have loved you less or played you slyly I might have held you for a summer more, But at the cost of words I value highly, And no such summer as the one before. Should I outlive this anguish--and men do-- I shall have only one good to say of you.