Love that is dead and buried, yesterday Out of his grave rose up before my face, No recognition in his look, no trace Of memory in his eyes dust-dimmed and grey. While I, remembering, found no word to say, But felt my quickened heart leap in its place; Caught afterglow thrown back from long set days, Caught echoes of all music pa**ed away. Was this indeed to meet?--I mind me yet In youth we met when hope and love were quick, We parted with hope dead, but love alive: I mind me how we parted then heart sick, Remembering, loving, hopeless, weak to strive:-- Was this to meet? Not so, we have not met.