  I stood tearless and lone at midnight Near a grave by destiny made; Deep in a vale by a lonely stream, Where the branches drooped and swayed In the soft night wind that breathed a sigh To the flowers in the sheen Of the pale moon, and the world at rest Seemed fair as an angel’s dream. But sorrow enwrapt me at midnight Beside my beautiful dead, And I buried it deep for evermore, And hope with its white wings fled. And I wept alone at the midnight A passion of burning tears— I knew, the way would be rough and long Through all the untried years. I stole away from that sacred place, Where never a form was laid, But the fairest dream my soul e’er knew Rests in that sylvan shade. In many lands and o’er distant seas My restless feet have strayed; I’ve faced the storm and battle’s rage With courage undismayed. In every clime and on every sea I vainly sought to forget, But memory still remained the same— A changeless, fadeless regret. I have come again at the midnight, After changeful, weary years, And the scenes of the dear long ago Fill my eyes with tender tears. And I steal sometimes at the midnight To that quiet, sacred place, When the wind’s breath kindly caresses, And the moon unveils her face. I dream of the future at midnight, A fadeless, celestial shore, Where the lost shall be reunited, And weariness come no more. |
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