Classic Poem

To picture you when far apart from me,
To guess how you might occupy the day;
Whether the moments slowly glide away
And if the hours or swift or tedious be;
And never from this patient vigil free,
But like a statue in the sculptor's clay
Musing and brooding, or as Moslems pray,
Stretching my hands through silence out to thee.

There is so little time, Love, after all,
To walk together; such a little while
Before our lives will melt as in a breath;
How soon, alas, the leaves of April fall!
How much I miss the joyance of your smile,
And waiting seems the bitterness of death.