When do I see thee most, beloved one?
When in the light the spirit of mine eyes
Before thy face, their altar, solemnize
The worship of that love through thee made known?
Or when, in the dusk hours (we two alone),
Close kissed and eloquent of still replies
Thy twilight hidden glimmering visage lies,
And my soul only sees thy soul its own?

O love, my love! if I no more should see
Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of thee,
Nor image of thine eyes in any spring,
How then should sound upon Life's darkening slope
The ground whirl of the perished leaves of Hope
The wind of Death's imperishable wing?