When first thy voice did stir the autumn air,
A fire long-dormant waked beneath my breast;
No mortal phrase could hold thee fully there,
Ineffable - no mere words can express.
Thy beauty was not merely face or form,
Though heaven seemed to linger in thine eyes;
It moved within me like a whirling storm,
A sacred ache no reason could disguise.
Two score of years thy shadow walked with mine,
Through dim-lit courts of memory and regret;
And every joy I touched seemed less divine
Because thy absence haunted through it yet.
Twice wert thou near, then vanished like a prayer,
Leaving thy wound where love and fate contends;
“There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,”
I whispered. Then to home thou didst repair.
May 11 - Happy Birthday