I Speak Your Name

I speak your name in alien ways, while yet
         November smiles from under lashes wet.
   In the November light I see you stand
   Who love the fading woods and withered land,
Where Peace may walk, and Death, but not Regret.

The year is slow to alter or forget;
June’s glow and autumn’s tenderness are met.
   Across the months by this swift sunlight spanned,
                  I speak your name.

Because I loved your golden hair, God set
His sea between our eyes. I may not fret,
   For, sure and strong, to meet my soul’s demand,
   Comes your soul’s truth, more near than hand in hand;
And low to God, who listens, Margaret,
                  I speak your name.

November 20, 1892

From The Poems of Sophie Jewett (Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., 1910) by Sophie Jewett. Copyright © Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. This poem is in the public domain.