My head is filled with olden rhymes beside this moaning sea, <br />But many and many a day has gone since I was dear to thee! <br />I know my passion fades away, and therefore oft regret <br />That some who love indeed can part and in the years forget. <br />Ah! through the twilights when we stood the wattle trees between, <br />We did not dream of such a time as this, fair Geraldine. <br />I do not say that all has gone of passion and of pain; <br />I yearn for many happy thoughts I shall not think again! <br />And often when the wind is up, and wailing round the eaves, <br />You sigh for withered Purpose shred and scattered like the leaves, <br />The Purpose blooming when we met each other on the green; <br />The sunset heavy in your curls, my golden Geraldine. <br /> <br />I think we lived a loftier life through hours of Long Ago, <br />For in the largened evening earth our spirits seemed to grow. <br />Well, that has passed, and here I stand, upon a lonely place, <br />While Night is stealing round the land, like Time across my face; <br />But I can calmly recollect our shadowy parting scene, <br />And swooning thoughts that had no voice — no utterance, Geraldine.<br /><br />Henry Kendall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/geraldine-3/
