So, Thou Art Gone by Gilbert Parker — Read

So, thou art gone; and I am left to wear / Thy memory as a golden amulet / Upon my breast, to sing a chansonnette / Of winter tones, when summer time is here.

And yet, my heart arises from the dark, / Where it fell back in silence when you went / To seaward, and a sprite malevolent / Sat laughing in the white sails of thy barque.

'Twas not moth-wings dashing against the flame, / Burning in love's areanum; 'twas a cry / Struck from soul-crossing chords, that, separate, frame

Life's holy calm, or wasting agony.

But now between the warring strings there grows / A space of peace, as 'tween truce-honoured foes.