Thomas S. Collyer (1821-1895)

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Not Lost

Ah me, dread friends of mine,--Love, Time, and Death!
Sweet Love who came to me on sheeny wing
And gave her to my arms--her lips, her breath,
And all her golden ringlets clustering:
And Time, who gathers in the flying years--
He gave me all, but where is all he gave?
He took my Love and left me barren tears,--
Weary and lone I follow to the grave.
There Death will end this vision half-divine,--
Wan Death, who waits in shadow evermore,
And silent, ere he give the sudden sign;
O, gently lead me thro' thy narrow door,
Thou gentle Death, thou trustiest friend of mine,
--Ah me for Love. . . will Death my Love restore?

(Text from The Book of Sorrow)