Poem by Amy Levy

London Poets

(In Memoriam.)


They trod the streets and squares where now I tread,
With weary hearts, a little while ago;
When, thin and grey, the melancholy snow
Clung to the leafless branches overhead;
Or when the smoke-veiled sky grew stormy-red
In autumn; with a re-arisen woe
Wrestled, what time the passionate spring winds blow;
And paced scorched stones in summer:--they are dead.

The sorrow of their souls to them did seem
As real as mine to me, as permanent.
To-day, it is the shadow of a dream,
The half-forgotten breath of breezes spent.
So shall another soothe his woe supreme--
”No more he comes, who this way came and went.”

1. Christopher Found
2. The First Extra
3. The Sick Man and the Nightingale
4. The Last Judgment
5. Ralph to Mary

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