Voiceless the vision vanishes,
	 An untenanted guest again
	 Far gone along the moonlit plain,
Sourceless as our dearest wishes.

I stand untongued beneath the blank,--
	 At the balustrade, I reach for dark,
	 See nothing there to hand me back
The loss of hope that's left me blank.

Piteous moon, shed tearlike light
	 On those who live below the clouds,
	 On us who circle in our shrouds,
Though no thing's worth its being bright.

Better still that grief... grief has come
	 And tears the hair and scrapes the eye,
	 Better we ourselves should wish to die
Than no feeling at all should come.

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Poems in pieces

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