————
Though far I roam from thee,
My fondest Love, my thought
To theeward constantly
By love's dear bond is brought.
Whate'er I hear or see,
If not thy voice or face,
Has interest for me
For but a little space.
And, whatso'er befall,
It little recks to me,
If it be not a call,
To summon me to thee.
My widowed spirit cries
Aloud for her twin-soul;
My heart in sorrow lies,
And needs thee to console.
Thus all my being faints,
And for thy presence pants;
In sorrowful complaints
It mourns our severance.
Then, dearest one, think not
That we shall never be
United—such a lot
Is not for thee and me.
And when at last we meet,
(As is our destiny),
In commune pure and sweet
We'll live eternally.