And I seem to live over my girlhood again,
When my life was as warm as the spring:
Before it had read the sharp lesson of pain,
And when you were my hero, arid king.
Oh! you were not worthy the love that I gave,
Like the sun in midsummer, it burned;
While a passionless fancy, an idle day-dream,
Was the poor, shallow thing you returned.
Long ago--long ago! time has softened the pain,
That threatened to shadow my life.
I am older, and wiser I think, now, than then,
And you have a beautiful wife--
As pure as the angels, as fair, too, they say,
With her blue eyes and snowy-white lid.
But I cannot help wondering, here to myself,
If she loves you as well as I did.
Ah me! it can never harm you, or your bride,
For me to dream over that night,
When you whispered sweet words o'er the rose from my hair.
And my foolish heart throbbed in delight.
1869
[WAITING]
The days flow on, and on,
And never one comes back.
Another year has vanished and gone,
As the waves of the sea wash out the track
On the shining sands o' th' shore.
And patience waneth, and hope is spent,
As I wait and watch for the one who went,
And cometh to me no more.
The spring-time lived and died,
And the summer followed fast;
And I watched through both, with a heart that cried,
For the one who vanished into the past,
> Like a beautiful star from the sky;
Who sailed in a good ship over the sea,
And the ship came back: But "where is he,
Oh, treacherous ship," I cry?
The autumn, gold and brown,
Rose from the summer's grave,
And the rain and my tears fell down and down,
As day by day, I stood by the wave.
And cried aloud in my pain.
But what cares the sea for a tortured soul!
It mocks at grief, and the breakers roll,
Singing a loud refrain.