Almost Over
YOU say I should not think upon her now:
But then I have stood beside her listening,
And watched her rose—breathed lips when she would sing:
And I can scarcely yet imagine how
I ever should despise that stately brow
And flowering breast that is so pure a thing.
Alas for all the weary blood—running
When from the heart love strives to tear a vow!
And yet perchance—even as you tell me—soon
Her spirit of my spirit will leave hold,
And, when I hear her tread, I shall not blush
Doubly, for love and shame. But then the moon
Assuredly will rise, and Sleep shall fold
Her hair round me, and Death will whisper Hush!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Added by Poetry Lover
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