Sonett-Forum

SHE WILL NEVER AGAIN VISIT THE OLD WELL

O ! WEARY watcher waiting at the well !
She whom thou seekest cannot come again ;
She cannot come to fill thy aching brain
With thoughts as sweet as nectar in a cell,

Or bright as flowers in a dreamy dell ;
Her individual force is spent ; in vain
Thou yearnest for the touch that banished pain ;
No longer can she weave her mystic spell

For she is now a part of all around,
A spirit and an essence, a desire,
An aspiration in the heart of things,

That murmurs in the harmony of sound,
Is white in lilies, red in flaming fire,
And everlasting in recurrent springs !