I
I tore your letter into strips No bigger than the airy feathers That ducks preen out in changing weathers Upon the shifting ripple-tips.
II
In darkness on my bed alone I seemed to see you in a vision, And hear you say: "Why this derision Of one drawn to you, though unknown?"
III
Yes, eve's quick mood had run its course, The night had cooled my hasty madness;
I suffered a regretful sadness Which deepened into real remorse.
IV
I thought what pensive patient days A soul must know of grain so tender, How much of good must grace the sender Of such sweet words in such bright phrase.
V
Uprising then, as things unpriced I sought each fragment, patched and mended;
The midnight whitened ere I had ended And gathered words I had sacrificed.
VI
But some, alas, of those I threw Were past my search, destroyed for ever:
They were your name and place; and never Did I regain those clues to you.
VII
I learnt I had missed, by rash unheed, My track; that, so the Will decided, In life, death, we should be divided, And at the sense I ached indeed.
VIII
That ache for you, born long ago, Throbs on; I never could outgrow it.
What a revenge, did you but know it!
But that, thank God, you do not know.
