When earth is fair, and winds are still,
When sunset gilds the western hill,
Oft by the porch, with jasmine sweet,
Or by the brook, with noiseless feet,
Two silent forms are seen;
So silent they — the place so lone —
They seem like souls when life is gone,
That haunt where life has been:
And his to watch, as in the past
Her soul had watch'd his soul.
Alas! her darkness waits the last,
The grave the only goal!
It is not what the leech can cure —
An erring chord, a jarring madness:
A calm so deep, it must endure —
So deep, thou scarce canst call it sadness;
A summer night, whose shadow falls
On silent hearths in ruin'd halls.
Yet, through the gloom, she seem'd to feel
His presence like a happier air,
Close by his side she loved to steal,
As if no ill could harm her there!
And when her looks his own would seek,
Some memory seem'd to wake the sigh,
Strive for kind words she could not speak,
And bless him in the tearful eye.
O sweet the jasmine's buds of snow,
In mornings soft with May,
And silver-clear the waves that flow
To shoreless deeps away;
But heavenward from the faithful heart
A sweeter incense stole;—
The onward waves their source desert,
But Soul returns to Soul!