SWEET eyes of blue, shine down beside

The lonely path I tread;

With you was life beatified . . .

But here the leaves are dead.

The leaves are dead, the trees are bare

And haggard with the cold:

A murmur of gray sea everywhere -

A dash of sunset gold -

A lurid pallor lengthening thro'

The outmost verge of sight,

And wailing winds and damp sea-dew, -

So falls the autumn night.

Ah! wisht-for hand! I miss thy touch

Of healing on my pain.

The tide comes in: I know that such

As she comes not again.

True heart I lost, I miss you, but

I know not where to find;

How see the eyes that death hath shut

The sad eyes left behind?

One night I dreamt I saw her, dead.

The dream - the life - are one.

A halo of gold about the head

Dearest beneath the sun.

They wear not halos here. . . The eyes

Are pitiful, you see.

In their blue calms of Paradise

Is there no place for me?

The vistaed wood-walks are forgot

That markt the ways of old, -

The dreamland hills remember'd not,

In purple dawn-mists roll'd.

But I remember, dear, and press

Closer to those dim days:

Look on the past with tenderness, -

It needs not all dispraise.

Too late for pride or shame! Apart

Forever she dwells from me;

And sunder'd farther heart from heart

Than farthest sea from sea!