  IT is over now, she is gone to rest; I have clasped the hands on the quiet breast; Draw back the curtain, let in the light, She will never shrink if it be too bright. We were two in here but an hour gone by, No streak was then in the midnight sky; Now I am one to watch the day Come glimmering up from the far-away. What will he say when he comes in, Waked by the city’s morning din, Hoping to find and fearing to know The sorrow he left but an hour ago? What will he say who has watched so long, When he shall find who has come and gone? Come a watcher that will not bide Love’s morning or noon or eventide. He thought to kiss her by morning gray, But God has thought to take her away. What will he say? God knows, not I; “Good-night,” he said, but never “good-bye. C. C. Fraser Tytler. |
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