Why should I grieve, though seeing thee no more?
Why beat the restless pinions of desire,
Till flames consume my self-constructed pyre
And phenixlike I perish? Still to soar,
As doth the lark, above this twilight shore,
With dauntless wing and vision ever higher;
My steadfast heart aglow with vestal fire—
Thus would I grieve and thus would I adore.
Why should I mourn? The joyous-hearted day
Whereon we met as wanderers long astray,
Though but a fledgling's vision, wild and brief,
Holds promise, as earth's blinding vapor yields
A glimpse of empyrean,—fire-purged fields,—
Of halcyon years, undimmed by brooding grief.
