Bereft's Restless Eyes

Is it her taking, that deprives my rest
Of sweetly nothings offered by a sleep?
Does will that motions scythe give shadows zest
Compeling mine to follow them in weep?
Is by a terror that the dark give light
To my bereft that they by actions caused
When swift in bygone season love took flight
And flew my dearest where the soul had paused?
No, love! The truest love that had mine breached
Believes that slumber's time forgets the loss:
A state awake; can spirit's love be reached!
No threshold need a course nor need to cross:

In blackness, calls from love 'why did she die?'
As into heart is too the restless eye.