The house of life

Not in thy body is thy life at all But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes; Through these she yields thee life that vivifies What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall. Look on thyself without her, and recall The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.

Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago; Even so much life endures unknown, even where, 'Mid change the changeless night environeth, Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death.