Cold in the earth -- and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?
Remembrance by Emily Bronte, one of my favorite poems, was stuck on my mind. I layed in the dark. I was sleeping in the recliner because I toss and turn too much sleeping in my bed and it had been irritating my eye infection.
Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern leaves cover
Thy noble heart forever, ever more?
Cold in the earth -- and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring;
Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!
I looked around at the little colored lights on the Blu-Ray player and the speakers. The house was quiet except for the occasional crackles of the ice maker and tik-toks of the clock. It felt strange not to be in my bed. The silence echoed in the big empty space. The colored lights became eerie. I covered my head with the blanket.
Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!
No later light has lightened up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.
I checked my phone. It was late, but I was still disappointed to have no messages. He and I used to talk almost every night. I figured there was no point in dwelling on my thoughts of him. After all, I'm the one who officially ended our friendship.
But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.
Then did I check the tears of useless passion --
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine.
I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. I had a dream I've had before. The dream about change. I woke up every few hours, the poem by Emily Bronte still swirling through my head.
And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?