Absence

Sometimes I know the way
You walk, up over the bay;
It is a wind from the far sea
That blows the fragrance of your hair to me.

Or in this garden when the breeze
Touches my trees
To stir their dreaming shadows on the grass
I see you pass.

In sheltered beds, the heart of every rose
Serenely sleeps tonight. As shut as those
Your guarded heart; as safe as they from the beat, beat
Of hooves that tread dropped roses in the street.

Turn never again
On these eyes blind with a wild rain
Your eyes; they were stars to me.—
There are things stars may not see.

But call, call, and though Christ stands
Still with scarred hands
Over my mouth, I must answer. So
I will come—He shall let me go!

This is a poem by Charlotte Mew, who lived in England from 1869 to 1928. She loved women, but all her love was unrequited. She wrote great poems, but her work has been largely ignored. Dear Charlotte, if you were here in person, I would love you. But since you are not here in person, I will love your poem.

But you are living and breathing here in your poem. I hardly know how I can write about Absence without trampling on it. I've never heard rhyming so delicate and fine that it's almost not there. The music of these words and lines... what can I say? The emotion evoked.... it's impossible to describe. I only know that I want to read this poem over and over and feel its presence.

~Mary