Will you not hear my footstep in the street,
And, as of old, be ready at the door,
To give me rest again?... I shall come home.
H. D. Lowry.
Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—