The speaker is talking to a loved one who is long gone. Looking back, she feels she held much of that person but never quite reached the whole of them—some spark of laughter or hidden grief stayed just out of reach. When death took them, she felt stranded and exposed, as if she had lost not just a partner but her own shelter. Then the poem turns. She now feels she knows the dead beloved as fully as she herself is known. Their presence returns in small ways: music in the air, a wayside flower they seem to hold together. The closing lines offer a quiet certainty that whenever life becomes too heavy and tears come, she can run straight to that heart and be safe. The mood moves from wistful longing and loneliness into a tender, almost mystical reunion.
Long Dead — Summary
So much I had of you, yet not enough; Some vague of loveliness you kept from me, Some trick of April laughter, some grey stuff Of grief, woven of lost sun and a lost sea.
I crooked my hand to reach you — you were gone! And I was left as one without a wall — Behind which white quince shows its veils of lawn — A wayfarer, your lover not at all.
But now, I know you even as I am known; Your foot makes stir of music in the air; I pluck a wayside flower; upon mine own Your fingers clasp; its small blue pomp we share;
And when life cumbers, and the hard tears start, It is enough to run, straight to your heart!