(Alexander Smith)

To ----

THE BROKEN moon lay in the autumn sky,
And I lay at thy feet;
You bent above me; in the silence I
Could hear my wild heart beat.

I spoke; my soul was full of trembling fears
At what my words would bring:
You raisd your face, your eyes were full of tears,
As the sweet eyes of Spring.

You kissd me then, I worshippd at thy feet
Upon the shadowy sod.
Oh, fool, I lovd thee! lovd thee, lovely cheat!
Better than Fame or God.

My soul leapd up beneath thy timid kiss;
What then to me were groans,
Or pain, or death? Earth was a round of bliss,
I seemd to walk on thrones.

And you were with me mong the rushing wheels,
Mid Trades tumultuous jars;
And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals
Her hollow gulfs of stars.

Before your window, as before a shrine,
I ve knelt mong dew-soakd flowers,
While distant music-bells, with voices fine,
Measurd the midnight hours.

There came a fearful moment: I was pale,
You wept, and never spoke,
But clung around me as the woodbine frail
Clings, pleading, round an oak.

Upon my wrong I steadied up my soul,
And flung thee from myself;
I spurnd thy love as t were a rich mans dole,
It was my only wealth.

I spurnd thee! I, who lovd thee, could have died,
That hopd to call thee wife,
And bear thee, gently-smiling at my side,
Through all the shocks of life!

Too late, thy fatal beauty and thy tears,
Thy vows, thy passionate breath;
I ll meet thee not in Life, nor in the spheres
Made visible by Death. 

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