Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–1882)

WHEN do I see thee most, beloved one?

When in the light the spirits of mine eyes

Before thy face, their altar, solemnize

The worship of that love thro’ thee made known?

Or when, in the dusk hours (we two alone),

Close-kiss’d, and eloquent of still replies

Thy twilight hidden glimmering visage lies,

And my soul only sees thy soul its own?

O love, my love! if I no more should see

Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of thee,

Nor image of thine eyes in any spring,—

How then should sound upon Life’s darkening slope

The ground-whirl of the perish’d leaves of Hope,

The wind of Death’s imperishable wing?