I have so loved you I can never find
Rest from the thought of you in any place.
Far have I left your cypress-bed behind,
But not your hand’s light touch; but not your face.
Only this moment did a voice contrive
To make hope start up, quivering. I drew
Close to the sound of it—you were alive
A little space with laughter blowing through.
You were alive, and then you were more dead
Than ever you had been through all the years.
I heard a voice and knew not what it said—
Some simple trifle meant for other ears.
No one to share this exile and this pain;
No one to know that you have died again!