Time does not bring relief, you all have lied

Who said that 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 snow melts 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 which 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!