The hour which might have been yet might not be,
That hour that our two hearts conceived and bore
Yet whereof life was barren,— mute before
The house of Love,....
Mute before the house of Love
Earth and Air and Fire and Water
How explain our stillborn daughter?
Water, Fire and Air and Earth
How explain that death in birth?
And I soon followed, I soon followed
All that’s sacred, all that’s hallowed
Cried against it, cries against it
What was meant? What could prevent it?
Who’s to blame, what evil sent it?
Love struck the living rock and water flowed
So many verses flowed from out that cleft
So many pictures too we two have made
But a child, the breathing image of that life
That living picture was not meant to be
One last, one final picture of you, love,
I made of what remained when you would not.
The role is one you played so often, love,
The Lady of the Poet: Beatrice!
Untouchable, unspeakably beloved
Of that supreme inimitable man....
No more! No more. You cannot see me more!
You see, and dream, another, hardly me.
Be blessed. Be comforted. Begone.
Begone, this sorrow's shape, this walking woe.
Be calmed and dream your Beatrix. Recall
Your Lizzie if you will. Farewell! Fare well…