Page:Poems Clark.djvu/16

 But in grief seemed to sob and weep:
While the low, sweet words of our converse
 We had now in shouts to repeat.

And never a narrowing tide ebb,
 And never a bridge that spanned,
Brought us back the old time blessing
 Of clasping hand in hand;
Till the stream grew deep and mighty,
 A broad river through the land.

Then there came a time, when no longer
 Our loudest tones could be heard;
And to soothe this wearisome journey,
 Came never a spoken word:
Only a dirgelike murmur,
 Like the wail of a dying bird.

Still deeper and darker the waters,—
 Still swifter the current sped,
And looking afar o'er the distance,
 I saw, with surprise and dread,
That they merged in a boundless ocean,
 And I knew all hope was dead.

The "forget—me—nots" in my bosom
 Were bright in their fadeless hue,
But gone for aye was the hand—clasp,
 And the face I no more should view,
That beside my own in the moss—grown spring,
 Had smiled from the waters blue.

Since then, through days grown dreary,
 I have walked on the shore alone,
Looking all in vain for a footprint,
 Or listening for one dear tone:
While over my heart this parting
 Has the weight of a graveyard stone.

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