Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.
Mathilde Blind b. 1850From A Love-Trilogy
I
That ye blow o’er the brows of my Love, breathing low that I sicken for love.
That ye fall at the feet of my love with the sound of one weeping forlorn.
That ye sing in his ears of the joy that forever has fled from my breast.
That ye droop in his path as the life in me shrivels consumed by despair.
A memory of her who lies wan on the limits of life let it be.
Which lifteth my heart like a wave, and smites it, and breaks its desire.
That drags me back shuddering from sleep each morning to life with its woe.
To that garden where love stood in blossom with the red and white hawthorn of May.
The moon cometh up as of old; she seeks, but she finds him no more.
My face to the earth, and my breast in an anguish ne’er soothed into sleep.
But love once gone, goes forever, and all that endures is the grief.