I ASKED you if you loved me as of old,
And in your eyes I read a questioning,
As though you feared your ardor had grown cold,
And Love no more were such a wondrous thing;
But even as I searched that look, my own
Reached to the vision you have never known.

And so, through all your doubt, my seeing soul
Smiled, for it knew you could not fathom love,
For none have scaled the heights nor dreamed the whole,
Till Death's blank silence comes the test to prove—
Had I not met its echoless despair,
How could I know that your deep love was there?

But I have walked with that grim comrade, Pain,
And yearned with baffled longing for a word
That lips, once joyous, may not speak again
To happy ears that knew not what they heard—
I, who have anguished through the endless night,
Can measure all your love for me aright!

And so I know if I should pass away,
The question in your eyes would pass with me;
If I should die before another day,
Your heart would bleed for mine as poignantly
As though we had been severed in the Spring
Of our great passion's pregnant blossoming.

Death shall interpret what Life may not see,
And eyes that bless our own with love and laughter
Are only fully prized when mystery
Curtains the present from the dim hereafter.
What fruitless, fond assurance you would give,
If I were dead, and words could make me live!