Ce pauvre temps passé!
ALFRED DE MUSSET.
It was a time of wind and sun,
Morning day, and the Winter done,
Morning life, and the Spring begun.
It was a place so dreamy and brown,
Pensive with sheep-bells under the down,
Scent-dreamy, wild, with a windy crown.
You were coming, out of the Spring,
Out of the sun-dream wandering,
Out of the wind-joy hastening.
I did not see you, sweet; a flight
Of sea-birds only, pearly and white,
With a sudden shadow fled into the light.
I never heard your call, my Fair;
O music up in the flickering air!
O voice my ears so ill could spare!
And the wild, wild call my soul begot,
The long wild call, I know not what,—
We met not then, for it reached you not,
And never again. But our hearts did greet.
Whatever path misled your feet,
Voices so true could not but meet.
Though we have strayed from that place of heather,
Your cry and mine speed on together
Above the Spring and the Summer weather.
Among the stars and in the blue,
What words could never my call may do,
—Speak my love and loss of you.
SONNET.
THOUGHTS IN SEPARATION.
Plus loin que nos douleurs,
Plus loin que nos murmures.
VICTOR HUGO.
We never meet; yet we meet day by day
Upon those hills of life, dim and immense,
The good we love, and sleep, our innocence.
O hills of life, high hills! And higher than they.
Our guardian spirits meet at prayer and play.
Beyond pain, joy, and hope, and long suspense,
Above the summits of our souls, far hence,
An angel meets an angel on the way.
Beyond all good I ever believed of thee
Or thou of me, these always love and live.
And though I fail of thy ideal of me,
My angel falls not short; they greet each other;
Who knows, they may exchange the kiss we give,
Thou to thy crucifix, I to my mother.