Of prairie fires, far off, through gathering gloom;
While the young moon, and one bright star returning
Down the blue solitude, leave Night their room.
Gone is the glimmer of the silent river;
Hushed is the wind that sped the leaves to-day;
Alone through silence falls the crystal shiver
Of the sweet starlight, on its earthward way.
And yet I wait, how vainly! for a token—
A sigh, a touch, a whisper from the past;
Alas, I listen for a word unspoken,