Sweet, it may be that I forget
As time will interpose,
With further travails to be met
Before life’s close;
And yet, although the grief may pang
As poignancy but lends,
I hope the heartbreak which I sang
In part nor mends.
Time heals the wounds, and soothes the aches,
Yet I would keep alive
The sorrow, even as snowflakes
In time arrive.
The beauty of the mountain is
Replaced by beauty of
Snow on the mountain; only this
For, what we had, say has not died,
But merely, underneath
Time’s blanket dormant lies, though wide
Expanse since death--
That it may live again, believe
Although the interval
Be an eternity to grieve
As snow must fall.