Time does not bring relief; you all have
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I
To go - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet
Where never fell his foot or shone his faceI say, 'There is no memory of him here!'And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
