Out of the storm I hurry in
To find an empty room;
I call and call, but no footfall
Answers across the room:
Vainly your eyes I seek to win,
You are not here! O dear — my dear,
There is no sound and stir of you!
I know not what to do.
I know not what to do or say,
I stand with vacant stare
Upon the brink of pain to think:
“Love, whither dost thou fare?”
An echo answers: “Gone away!”
Your roses red their petals shed
Upon the book of verse I gave,
Like tears down on a grave!