He loves no more. Upon the failing streams The summer burns--so burns another flame: I see his eyes alight with alien dreams ... That long-forgotten country whence he came. Calls to him past my words; beyond my eyes Lost waters shine, remembered sunsets die. Ay, in my kiss another mouth replies, And speaks of kisses past, of lips put by. Now this my heart divines, for words of love He gives me still (O woeful heart and bruised To still complain!).... But surely, when I move His eyes will never follow as they used. III The soul that made love exquisite is gone, It is not that the word, the kiss, is changed. I cannot say, “Here was his thought withdrawn; So once was love, so now is love estranged.” But all of love that I could touch and know I held as one a lamp that makes his day, And touch it still, and see its flame burn low, Its shining figures fade to painted clay. Ah, I would hold the semblance, keep the kiss; But watching in its heart the paling spark, I cry out when the shadows menace this, As children weep for terror of the dark. IV That all tomorrows have no wound in store For shrinking Joy, nor any prick of dread, I know, who closed its eyes forevermore, And keep this night a vigil with my dead. This little space my out-thrown hands have stirred Is happy earth, for once it knew love’s feet; Here once love stood and called the heart that heard, And all the garden, all the world, grew sweet. I lay my joy within this hollowed space (I had not thought so blithe a thing could die!) And heap the happy earth upon the face That has no will to smile nor breath to sigh. With dew beneath and hushing night above I cannot tell how long my grief has lain-- Virgin, I will not plead you for my love, Only the pain,--if you would ease the pain. V The world below was deep in stormy cloud; But high in sun we flew along the ledge, And to the strength I rode I cried aloud And spurred it near against the trembling edge. (I rode Ramon along the mountain wall. Today he had no wilder mood than I-- No wilder will for lawless wind to call Upon the narrow trail that meets the sky.) The sharp air flowed like water through my hands. Heart, how I skirted death and laughed at pain! Forgotten pain in half-remembered lands Below me in the valleys with the rain. VI What alters with my changing? Not José, Content in little duties that he loves. Not Marta’s dimming eyes that stare away Beyond the tranquil court, the circling doves. I, too, I float on peace, forget almost, And then as drowning sight may pierce the sea To find the sun a green and wavering ghost, And shapes of earth distorted monstrously,--