Go, day, as fast as my heart beats,
Pass, minutes, with the speed of thought—
Fly, as my soul, when it entreats
Swift passage where its love is sought.
The present bridge with then and when,
Link past and future, dropping now;
Die, days, and rot like aged men,
Nights, vanish like a gamester’s vow!
Hope, on in front, seeks out the way,
Doubt stays behind and scoffs at all,
Trust walks with calm all through the day,
Faith brightly shines through night’s deep pall.
Life in the ever present hour,
Art in the prison of life’s pain,
Love in the torture of its power;
Death shares with sleep what joy should gain.
ABSENCE
There is no anguish like the mourning heart,
That mourns for its lost love and mourns in vain;
That is the anguish which defies all pain—
Torture at which Prometheus’ soul would start!
What agony can still the heart of joy,
That holds its loved one to its surging breast?
All hell can rage and not disturb that rest—
Then Stygian tortures are but pain’s alloy!
And what is absence but a gaping sore,
That aches and suffers every stinging thrust?
A burning lesion, or a bleeding rent,
That rives the soul of lovers to the core?
When hearts in absence stronger grow, then must
Those hearts have held no lover’s aliment!
WANDERING
The morning hath the sun for mate,
The night the moon for wife;
The wind and I, like things of hate,
Go on alone through life.