Of me, and wonder where my love has flown.
I cannot tell them, I have never heard;
My boat has drawn unto a silent shore;
But could she speak to me one little word,
Or could I hope to love her evermore,
Then I might see the sun arise, and sing
Matins of praise, like Francis, o’er the sea;
And every happy bird upon the wing,
And all the angels, would rejoice with me.
STOPFORD A. BROOKE.