What of her glass without her? The blank grey <br />There where the pool is blind of the moon's face. <br />Her dress without her? The tossed empty space <br />Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away. <br />Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway <br />Usurped by desolate night. Her pillowed place <br />Without her? Tears, ah me! for love's good grace, <br />And cold forgetfulness of night or day. <br />What of the heart without her? Nay, poor heart, <br />Of thee what word remains ere speech be still? <br />A wayfarer by barren ways and chill, <br />Steep ways and weary, without her thou art, <br />Where the long cloud, the long wood's counterpart, <br />Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-liii-without-her/
