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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343167" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Christopher Found</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At last; so this is you, my dear!<br>How should I guess to find you here?<br>So long, so long, I sought in vain<br>In many cities, many lands,<br>With straining eyes and groping hands;<br>The people marvelled at my pain.<br>They said: &quot;But sure, the woman's mad;<br>What ails her, we should like to know,<br>That she should be so wan and sad,<br>And silent through the revels go?&quot;<br>They clacked with such a sorry stir!<br>Was I to tell? were they to know<br>That I had lost you, Christopher?<br>Will you forgive me for one thing?<br>Whiles, when a stranger came my way,<br>My heart would beat and I would say :<br>&quot; Here's Christopher!&quot; --then lingering<br>With longer gaze, would turn away<br>Cold, sick at heart. My dear, I know<br>You will forgive me for this thing.<br>It is so very long ago<br>Since I have seen your face--till now;<br>Now that I see it--lip and brow,<br>Eyes, nostril, chin, alive and clear;<br>Last time was long ago; I know<br>This thing you will forgive me, dear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is no Heaven--This is the best;<br>O hold me closer to your breast;<br>Let your face lean upon my face,<br>That there no longer shall be space<br>Between our lips, between our eyes.<br>I feel your bosom's fall and rise.<br>O hold me near and yet more near;<br>Ah sweet ; I wonder do you know<br>How lone and cold, how sad and drear,<br>Was I a little while ago;<br>Sick of the stress, the strife, the stir;<br>But I have found you, Christopher.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If only you had come before!<br>(This is the thing I most deplore)<br>A seemlier woman you had found,<br>More calm, by courtesies more bound,<br>Less quick to greet you, more subdued<br>Of appetite; of slower mood.<br>But ah! you come so late, so late!<br>This time of day I can't pretend<br>With slight, sweet things to satiate<br>The hunger-cravings. Nay, my friend,<br>I cannot blush and turn and tremble,<br>Wax loth as younger maidens do.<br>Ah, Christopher, with you, with you,<br>You would not wish me to dissemble?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So long have all the days been meagre,<br>With empty platter, empty cup,<br>No meats nor sweets to do me pleasure,<br>That if I crave--is it over-eager,<br>The deepest draught, the fullest measure,<br>The beaker to the brim poured up?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>V.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Shelley, that sprite from the spheres above,<br>Says, and would make the matter clear,<br>That love divided is larger love;--<br>We'll leave those things to the bards, my dear.<br>For you never wrote a verse, you see;<br>And I--my verse is not fair nor new.<br>Till the world be dead, you shall love but me,<br>Till the stars have ceased, I shall love but you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>EPILOGUE.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus ran the words; or rather, thus did run<br>Their purport. Idly seeking in the chest<br>(You see it yonder), I had found them there:<br>Some blotted sheets of paper in a case,<br>With a woman's name writ on it: &quot;Adelaide.&quot;<br>Twice on the writing there was scored the date<br>Of ten years back; and where the words had end<br>Was left a space, a dash, a half-writ word,<br>As tho' the writer minded, presently<br>The matter to pursue.<br>I questioned her,<br>That worthy, worthy soul, my châtelaine,<br>Who, nothing loth, made answer.<br>There had been<br>Another lodger ere I had the rooms,<br>Three months gone by--a woman.<br>&quot;Young, sir ? No.<br>Must have seen forty if she'd seen a day!<br>A lonesome woman; hadn't many friends;<br>Wrote books, I think, and things for newspapers.<br>Short in her temper--eyes would flash and flame<br>At times, till I was frightened. Paid her rent<br>Most regular, like a lady.<br>Ten years back,<br>They say (at least Ann Brown says), ten years back<br>The lady had a lover. Even then<br>She must have been no chicken.<br>Three months since<br>She died. Well, well, the Lord is kind and just.<br>I did my best to tend her, yet indeed<br>It's bad for trade to have a lodger die.<br>Her brother came, a week before she died:<br>Buried her, took her things, threw in the fire<br>The littered heaps of paper.<br>Yes, the sheets,<br>They must have been forgotten in the chest;--<br>I never knew her name was Adelaide.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Amy+Levy">Amy Levy</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=343167" data-title="Christopher Found de Amy Levy" data-description="I.

At last; so this is you, my dear!
How should I guess to find you here?
So long, so long, I sought in vain
In many cities, many lands,
With straining eyes and groping hands;
The people marvelled at my pain.
They said: &quot;But sure, the woman'..."></div>
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