He is coming—but his footsteps
Know not now youth’s bounding grace,
And a world of sin and suffering
Is recorded in his face;
Airy dreams of high ambition
That he cherished in the past—
All have vanished—and aweary
He returns to her at last.
In the old familiar garden
Where he first breathed love’s fond vow,
With new hopes, like the new roses
Sprung from old roots, they stand now;
And the past is past for ever,
She forgives, and he forgets,
For the present peace has buried
Years of sorrows and regrets.
TRYSTING-TIME
’Tis only when the wooing west
Has drawn the tired sun to her breast,
I seek my darling’s place of rest.
In twilight-time we used to meet—
Ah me, how lag our listless feet
When we have but a grave to greet!
And yet, this daisy-dappled grave
So like a soft white-crested wave
Is all beneath the skies I have.
On broken wings the years have flown,
Oh love, since in the long agone
I left you sleeping here alone!
BESIDE THE DEAD
Touch not her hand, let not your tear-drops stain
The show-white purity of her dead brow;
Withhold your lips, their passion or their pain
Can thrill her nor with love nor pity now.
The empty years that followed your farewell—
The joyless dawns, the nights that brought no rest
Are ended,—and those weary eyelids fell
O’er eyes that had grown dim in one vain quest.