Ah! how I miss the pressure of thy hand,
And thy dear voice seems of the past a part;
Thy figure like a shade from shadow-land.
I think I would be happy if you came
And touched my hand, or softly called my name.
If I could look into your face to-night,
And search the deep mines of your pensive eyes,
Sure, I would find there a responsive light,
To dissipate from out my heart the sighs;
And then I know my lips would lose their scorn,