A Problem.
MY heart is perplexed, though I’ve tried to discover
An answer to solve what it is that I miss,
Though I’ve questioned myself more that twenty times over,
There seems no reply to a question like this.
My friends meet me gladly with words kindly spoken,
Salutations of praises and sometimes a kiss,
And looks sent along with a sweet flower token.
I find in my room—there is something I miss.
The blaze up the chimney this evening is talking,
The wind and the shutter hum sad an old tune,
A cloud o’er the heavens is leisurely walking,
A few early snowflakes are vexing the moon.
Pale Luna! your countenance seemeth too sober,
But why should I murmur or wonder at this?
The flame of the woodland died out with October,
The birds, too, are gone—there is something I miss.
I stir down the embers, and here in the firelight
I read the home paper a late train has brought,
And into the lives of the absent an insight
I take; do they ever of me have a thought?
How strange the words sound when no answer is given,
Ah! the tone of a friend would to-night insure bliss,
And the faces of loved ones would seem like a heaven
Of angels, alas! there is something I miss.
Will it always be thus? Is this one missing measure
To cripple my verse and sadden my song?
What a joy it is to regain a lost treasure
And in the heart’s casket the setting make strong.
But I have grown weary these figures of trying;
I wonder if others make failures like this?
A smile? Ah, you solved then the truth underlying
This problem, and know what it is that I miss.
Madisonville, Ky.
