Two Letters to a Friend
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?
Letter I.—After the Wedding
Bright-browed as Summer's self who claspt the land—
With eyes like English skies, where seemed to play
Deep azure dreams behind the tender grey—
All light and love, she moved: I see her stand
Beneath that tree; I see the happy band
Of bridesmaids on the lawn where blossoms sway
In light so rare it seems as if the day
Glowed conscious of the future s golden strand.
O Friend, if sun and wind and flowers and birds
In language deeper drawn than human words
