Robert Browning

The Lost Mistress

All’s over, then: does truth sound bitter
   As one at first believes?
Hark, ’tis the sparrows’ good-night twitter
   About your cottage eaves!
 
And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
   I noticed that, today;
One day more bursts them open fully
  –You know the red turns grey.
 
Tomorrow we meet the same then, dearest?
   May I take your hand in mine?
Mere friends are we,– well, friends the merest
   Keep much that I resign:
 
For each glance of the eye so bright and black,
   Though I keep with heart’s endeavor, –
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,
   Though it stay in my soul for ever!—
 
Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
   Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
   Or so very little longer!
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