If I must live without you, I must learn
To love the earth and all that grows once more,
With the old good love that satisfied before
I saw you smile. Now, let me turn and turn,
Your memory covers earth and sky; I yearn
For you, and not for Spring; my heart is sore
With absence, not with Winter's length. Of yore,
When climbing noons began to softly burn,
There seemed a tender joy in every bud
That swelled and burst, in every little spear
That broke the clods; and Spring sang in my blood
As in the sap; and all that lived was dear.
These treasures now are veiled and strange and far,
Whilst I go wandering where your footprints are.