Where is the vale and mountain,
And where the rock and stream,
One with its life of music,
The other with its gleam,
Where she and I were shadows
And all our world, a dream?
Between the world of waking,
And the sad world of sleep,
I met her, crowned with sorrow
Of love no heart would keep;
Within her eyes the terror
Of darkness, starry deep.
And was it in the valley,
Where something whispereth,
“Who is it walks so dimly?”
That I heard her murmur, “Death”?
As if upon my eyelids
The Beautiful breathed its breath.
There was no tomb before us,
Nor any stone to tell
Of love, or hate, or horror
In heaven or in hell—
But in her look the legend,
And in her eyes the spell.
And was it on the mountain,
The stealthy stars had crossed
To stand austere with silence,
That I heard her whisper, “Lost”?
As if dark eyes one moment
The Terrible did accost.
There was no memoried presence
Of flower or star or bird
To tell of tears and parting
That heartbreak once had heard—
But in her face the vision,
And in her heart the word.
Where is the vale and mountain,
And where the rock and stream
One with its life of music,
The other with its gleam,
Where she and I were shadows
And all our world, a dream?