Each shade I pass, amid the closing night,
Seems still to wear thy form and mock my arms!
O, why, why comes he not? I gave the sign,—
I marked the spot,—and yet he is not here!
Has he neglected? Can he disobey?
It may not be! A thousand terrors seize me.
Perhaps some injury or accident
Has made him turn aside his hastening step;—
Perhaps he may be slain, or hurt, or seized.
The very thought freezes my breaking heart.