Whence came his feet into my field, and why? <br />How is it that he sees it all so drear? <br />How do I see his seeing, and how hear <br />The name his bitter silence knows it by? <br />This was the little fold of separate sky <br />Whose pasturing clouds in the soul's atmosphere <br />Drew living light from one continual year: <br />How should he find it lifeless? He, or I? <br />Lo! this new Self now wanders round my field, <br />With plaints for every flower, and for each tree <br />A moan, the sighing wind's auxiliary: <br />And o'er sweet waters of my life, that yield <br />Unto his lips no draught but tears unseal'd, <br />Even in my place he weeps. Even I, not he.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xcviii-he-and-i/
