You see we're tired, my heart and I. We dealt with books, we trusted men, And in our own blood drenched the pen, As if such colors could not fly. We walked too straight for fortune's end, We loved too true to keep a friend: At last we're tired, my heart and I. How tired we feel, my heart and I! We seem of no use in the world; Our fancies hang gray and uncurled About men's eyes indifferently; Our voice, which thrilled you so, will let You sleep; our tears are only wet: What do we here, my heart and I? So tired, so tired, my heart and I! It was not thus in that old time When Ralph sat with me 'neath the lime To watch the sunset from the sky. "Dear love, you're looking tired," he said; I, smiling at him, shook my head: 'Tis now we're tired, my heart and I. So tired, so tired, my heart and I! Though now none takes me on his arm To fold me close and kiss me warm Till each quick breath end in a sigh Of happy languor. Now, alone, We lean upon this graveyard stone, Uncheered, unkissed, my heart and I. Tired out we are, my heart and I. Suppose the world brought diadems To tempt us, crusted with loose gems Of powers and pleasures? Let it try. We scarcely care to look at even A pretty child, or God's blue heaven, We feel so tired, my heart and I. Yet who complains? My heart and I? In this abundant earth, no doubt, Is little room for things worn out: Disdain them, break them, throw them by! And if, before the days grew rough, We _once_ were loved, used,--well enough I think we've fared, my heart and I. FROM 'CATARINA TO CAMOENS' [Dying in his absence abroad, and referring to the poem in which he recorded the sweetness of her eyes.] On the door you will not enter I have gazed too long: adieu! Hope withdraws her "peradventure"; Death is near me,--and not _you!_ Come, O lover, Close and cover These poor eyes you called, I ween, "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!" When I heard you sing that burden In my vernal days and bowers, Other praises disregarding, I but hearkened that of yours, Only saying In heart-playing, "Blessed eyes mine eyes have been, If the sweetest HIS have seen!" But all changes. At this vesper Cold the sun shines down the door. If you stood there, would you whisper, "Love, I love you," as before,-- Death pervading Now and shading Eyes you sang of, that yestreen, As the sweetest ever seen?