Lost
By James Whitcomb Riley.
’Twas a summer ago, when he left me here,
A summer of smiles with never a tear,
Till I said to him, with a sob: my dear,
Good-by, my lover, good-by!
For I love him, oh! as the stars love night!
And my cheeks for him flushed red and white
When first he called me his heart’s delight.
Good-by, my lover, good-by!
The touch of his hand was a thing divine,
As he sat with me in the soft moonshine,
And drank of love as men drink wine.
Good-by, my lover, good-by!
And never a night as I knelt in prayer,
In a gown as white as our own souls wear,
But in fancy he came and kissed me there:
Good-by, my lover, good-by!
But now, God! what an empty place
My whole heart is! Of the old embrace
And the kiss I loved there lives no trace:
Good-by, my lover, good-by!
He sailed not over the stormy sea,
And he went not down in the waves—not he;
But, oh! he is lost, for he married me:
Good-by, my lover, good-by!
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