TO A. E. B., OR HER WHO UNDERSTANDS IT
BY ADALIZA CUTTER.
Dearest, my sad and lonely breast
Is full to-night of thoughts of thee,
And as the tired dove seeks its nest,
With its dear little ones to be,
E'en thus my weary spirit turns
To thee, for whom it fondly yearns,
And flies unfettered o'er the sea:
Upon thy breast it folds its wing,
And there its sweetest song doth sing.
I am thinking of those twilight hours
When, hand in hand, we used to rove;
When little birds in sylvan bowers
Awoke the echoes of the grove;
When flowers closed up their dewy eyes,
And o'er us arched those cloudless skies,
Smiling upon our mutual love:
And oh, my heart doth sadly yearn
For hours that may no more return!
More and more sadly, day by day,
I miss thy gentle loving tone,
And long to soar far, far away,
To meet once more my loved, my own.
I sit to-night with tearful eye
Fixed on that star in yonder sky;
But oh, it shines on me alone!
For she who watched its pale soft beam
With me, has gone like some bright dream.
I sometimes take my lute to sing
The simple songs we loved so well;
But when I touch each quivering string,
Sad, mournful sounds arise and swell;
For she whose presence could inspire
My heart with such poetic fire
Has kissed her last, her sad farewell
Upon my cheek, and left me here
To shed alone the silent tear.
I take my books; but bard and sage
Have half their beauty lost for me,
And tears fall fast upon the page
That I so oft have read with thee.
And then I throw those books aside,
While faster still the tear drops glide,
That by my side thou canst not be.
Poor heart, be still, nor sigh in vain
For joys that may not come again!
Where, where art thou? Oh, well I know
What joy my presence would impart!
What rapture in thine eye would glow
To clasp me to thy loving heart!
For in that noble heart of thine
Beats the same love that throbs in mine;
Nor time shall bid that love depart.
Meet me in Heaven! my heart's warm prayer,
I love thee here—I'll love thee there!