Than music in her sweetest key,

Those eyes which unto me did seem

More comfortable than the day;

Those now by me, as they have been,

Shall never more be heard or seen;

But what I once enjoy’d in them

Shall seem hereafter as a dream.

Lord! keep me faithful to the trust

Which my dear spouse reposed in me:

To him now dead preserve me just

In all that should performèd be!

For though our being man and wife

Extendeth only to this life,

Yet neither life nor death should end

The being of a faithful friend.

George Wither (1588–1667)

‘Time does not bring relief’

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied

Who told me time would ease me of my pain!

I miss him in the weeping of the rain;

I want him at the shrinking of the tide;

The old snows melt from every mountain-side,

And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;

But last year’s bitter loving must remain

Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!

There are a hundred places where I fear

To go, – so with his memory they brim!

And entering with relief some quiet place

Where never fell his foot or shone his face

I say, ‘There is no memory of him here!’

And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Edna St Vincent Millay (1892–1950)

Tomorrows

After this day has darkened and gone

And I wake to the rest of my life

I shall think of the times and the places we saw

When we were husband and wife.

And I know I shall visit those places we loved

And walk by the fields and the sea

Where you and I spent our happiest hours

And somehow you’ll be there with me.

If I go through the woods to the top of the hill

Or run barefoot over the sand

I shall hear your voice in the wind, my love,

And feel the touch of your hand.

And people who see me on my own

As they pass me on the track

Might wonder why, if I’m really alone,

I pause sometimes and look back

To where the roadside trees are blurred

By the early evening mist;

I’ll be waiting for you to catch up, my love,

From where you’ve stopped to rest.

And though people will find many ways to be kind

They will never understand

How I hear your voice in the sigh of the wind

And feel the touch of your hand.

Simon Bridges (1965–)

‘Never more will the wind’

Never more will the wind

cherish you again,

never more will the rain.

Never more

shall we find you bright

in the snow and wind.

The snow is melted,

the snow is gone,

and you are flown:

Like a bird out of our hand,

like a light out of our heart,

you are gone.

H. D. (1886–1961)

Marriage and Death

We are not dovetailed but opened to each other