News

After Court Restores Research Funding, Trump Still Has Paths to Target Harvard

News

‘Honestly, I’m Fine with It’: Eliot Residents Settle In to the Inn as Renovations Begin

News

He Represented Paul Toner. Now, He’s the Fundraising Frontrunner in Cambridge’s Municipal Elections.

News

Harvard College Laundry Prices Increase by 25 Cents

News

DOJ Sues Boston and Mayor Michelle Wu ’07 Over Sanctuary City Policy

APART.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

SWEET eyes of blue, shine down beside

The lonely path I tread;

With you was life beatified . . .

But here the leaves are dead.

The leaves are dead, the trees are bare

And haggard with the cold:

A murmur of gray sea everywhere -

A dash of sunset gold -

A lurid pallor lengthening thro'

The outmost verge of sight,

And wailing winds and damp sea-dew, -

So falls the autumn night.

Ah! wisht-for hand! I miss thy touch

Of healing on my pain.

The tide comes in: I know that such

As she comes not again.

True heart I lost, I miss you, but

I know not where to find;

How see the eyes that death hath shut

The sad eyes left behind?

One night I dreamt I saw her, dead.

The dream - the life - are one.

A halo of gold about the head

Dearest beneath the sun.

They wear not halos here. . . The eyes

Are pitiful, you see.

In their blue calms of Paradise

Is there no place for me?

The vistaed wood-walks are forgot

That markt the ways of old, -

The dreamland hills remember'd not,

In purple dawn-mists roll'd.

But I remember, dear, and press

Closer to those dim days:

Look on the past with tenderness, -

It needs not all dispraise.

Too late for pride or shame! Apart

Forever she dwells from me;

And sunder'd farther heart from heart

Than farthest sea from sea!

Want to keep up with breaking news? Subscribe to our email newsletter.

Tags