"Oh, Love! is there any remembrance Reaching back to this desolate place?"
Under the Cypress.
Oh! Love, is it Christmas in Heaven? Do seraphs with ecstatic lay Awaken the echoes celestial As on the first Christmas Day? Dear Love! do you roam the fair uplands Where never is darkness nor night, And gather the undying flowers To garland the throne for His sight?
Oh! Love, is there any remembrance Reaching back to this desolate place— Do you know it is Christmas, in Heaven— Can you see there are tears on my face? Oh! Dearest, I envy the angels; I envy each one that is near— I envy the blossoms you smile on— Your smiles, how I long for them here!
I envy the casket that holds you Away from my heart's close embrace; I envy the sod that enfolds you, And shuts from my kisses your face.
It is Christmas, but bells only jangle, Each stroke is a heart throb of pain; The music is gone from their pealing, I would they were silent again. All life is but blank desolation— But bitterness, woe and despair; There gleams but one hope in the darkness, One Christmas I'll wake with you there.
