Classic Poem

Under the trembling summer stars,
I turned from side to side;
When she came in and sat with me,
As though she had not died.

And she was kind to me and sweet,
She had her ancient way;
Remembered how I liked her hand
Amid my hair to stray.

She had forgotten nothing, yet
Older she seemed, and still:
All quietly she took my kiss,
Even as a mother will.

She rose, and in the streak of dawn
She turned as if to go:
But then again came back to me;
My eyes implored her so!

She pushed the hair from off my brow,
And looked into my eyes.
“I live in calm,” she said, “and there
Am learning to be wise.”

“Why grievest thou? I pity thee
Still turning on this bed.”
“And art thou happy?” I exclaimed.
“Alas!” she sighed, and fled.