Have they no sense? no perception? no faith?
Are they helmless boats, without God or Creed?
Waiting, waiting, waiting, Harry, for you,
While the dreadful days drag wearily by;
I cannot wait longer—what shall I do?
For till I have kiss'd you I cannot die.
Frighten'd at every movement or sound—
Every thing except one thing forgot—
Always in terror that you have been found—
Would the first moment be rapture or not?