Page:Poems Greenwell.djvu/193

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
VIII.
181
As of a brook that sends a quiet flash
Through tangled boughs, and ever golden brown
From wet bright stone to stone goes lapsing down;
There oft we stood with hands together locked,
And lips whose gay and wandering converse mocked
The deeper oracles that ran below
Light words, light leaves, clear waters in their flow—
Till through those wood-aisles dim
A breath of soul, a consecration-hymn
Rose gradual on the summer's sunset glow.

      Then came an hour that tore
Our lives asunder, but within my dream
Far, far away did change and parting seem
As waves that chide upon some distant shore;
Our hands were locked, our lips—we did not speak,
Our very souls were locked,—we did not seek
For word, or look, or outward token more;
It was not Heaven, because we were not glad,
It was not Earth, no future made us sad,
But in a calm, unshadowed land between,
Our spirits loosened from their bonds terrene
Did meet, and commune in a language clear,
Of things that they had known and suffered here—
And I awoke and knew thou hadst been near!