Above the hills a little crescent swings—
Above the path where you will come no more
When beetles hurry by on vibrant wings,
And plaintively and near the cricket sings.
Nora May French
“COME BACK TO ME”
Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:—
Or come not yet, for it is over then,
And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.