C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Author Unknown
Doubt
T
I still could live and still could smile,
Were I but sure thy love now dead
Once lived a little while.
But not the past—oh, not the past!
Ah, love! do not this prayer refuse,
And it shall be my last.
The moon pale-gleaming through her tears
Showed your stern face and altered mood,
Which first awoke my fears.
My darkening fears have grown and grown;
But let, oh, let me keep the past,
Though hope and love have flown.
As that pale night, black leaves beneath;
Against your side you press my hand,
I feel each throbbing breath.
By it, or thee, was the tale told
Which made the ghost of true love pass
Wringing her white hands cold?
It swept between us bitter chill;
And now in blinding sunshine warm
I shiver with it still.
The selfsame branches overhead;
I watch the pitiless blue sky;
Would it shone o’er me dead!