  YES, but the years run circling fleeter, Ever they pass me—I watch, I wait— Ever I dream, and awake to meet her; She cometh never, or comes too late. Should I press on? for the day grows shorter— Ought I to linger? the far end nears; Ever ahead have I looked, and sought her On the bright sky-line of the gathering years. Now that the shadows are eastward sloping, As I screen mine eyes from the slanting sun, Cometh a thought—It is past all hoping, Look not ahead, she is missed and gone. Here on the ridge of my upward travel Ere the life-line dips to the darkening vales, Sadly I turn, and would fain unravel The entangled maze of a search that fails. When and where have I seen and passed her? What are the words I forgot to say? Should we have met had a boat rowed faster? Should we have loved had I stayed that day? Was it her face that I saw, and started, Gliding away in a train that crossed? Was it a form that I once, faint-hearted, Followed awhile in a crowd, and lost? Was it there she lived, when the train went sweeping Under the moon through the landscape hushed? Somebody called me, I woke from sleeping, Saw but a hamlet—and on we rushed. Listen and linger—She yet may find me In the last faint flush of the waning light— Never a step on the path behind me; I must journey alone, to the lonely night. But is there somewhere on earth, I wonder, A fading figure, with eyes that wait, Who says, as she stands in the distance yonder, “He cometh never, or comes too late”? |
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