  Like a funereal pall, Darkness lies over all; Weirdly the owl doth call From her lone steep. Sadly the night-wind blows Over December snows; Vain 'tis my eyes to close— I cannot sleep. Thy voice is in my ear; Once more thy words I hear, Bringing now hope now fear, But always love; And thy sweet face doth rise Radiant with starry eyes, Cloudless as summer skies In heaven above. Once more at night's soft noon, Under the pensive moon Of a long vanished June, With thee I stray: As when in days of old All my heart's love I told, And to my pleading bold Thou saidst not nay. When thou wast by my side, Calmly the days did glide; Like an unruffled tide My life did flow. Then was each hour too brief; Now I but seek relief From my consuming grief, Rest from my woe. Now falls the scalding tear, Shed for the present drear; Shed for the past so dear, So quickly flown. Over thy lonely grave, Hard by the sounding wave, Madly the wind-gusts rave; I am alone. Yes; but my whole life through Leal have I been and true; True shall I be to you, As true as then; Till when that life is o'er, Skyward my soul shall soar, And on the heavenly shore We meet again. H. D. Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh. All Rights Reserved. |
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