To a Tune

O wild, sweet tune, of which ray soul is fain, 
Through the loud sound of sea and tempest heard. 
Like the low moan of a wind-driven bird, — 
O sad, sweet tune! O passionate, wild strain! 
Full of past joy, dead hope, and present pain, — 
Once more I catch thee, and my heart is stirr'd. 
Stung sharply by that one great, simple word, 
Gone as a dream that shall not come again. 

Once more I see my lady's warm, flushed face; 
See her deep amorous eyes, and swept back hair; 
Yea, hear the tender sobbing of her breath. 
O tune, made sad with all sweet things that were! 
O tune, keep back, or quite restore those days. 
That, past, crown life, or break our wills for death!