Passion Past

WERE I a boy, with a boy's heart-beat At glimpse of her passing adown the street, Of a room where she had entered and gone, Or a page her hand had written on,-- Would all be with me as it was before? O no, never! no, no, never! Never any more. Were I a man, with a man's pulse-throb, Breath hard and fierce, held down like a sob, Dumb, yet hearing her lightest word, Blind, until only her garment stirred: Would I pour my life like wine on her floor? No, no, never: never, never! Never any more. Gray and withered, wrinkled and marred, I have gone through the fire and come out unscarred, With the image of manhood upon me yet, No shame to remember, no wish to forget: But could she rekindle the pangs I bore?-- O no, never! thank God, never! Never any more. Old and wrinkled, withered and gray,-- And yet if her light step passed to-day, I should see her face all faces among, And say,--'Heaven love thee, whom I loved long! Thou hast lost the key of my heart's door, Lost it ever, and forever, Ay, forevermore.'