The Wife to Her Husband

Linger not long. Home is not home without thee:
— Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn.
O, let its memory, like a chain about thee,
— Gently compel and hasten thy return!

Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy staying,
— Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends, though dear,
Compensate for the grief thy long delaying
— Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee here?

Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming,
— As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell;
When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming,
— And silence hangs on all things like a spell!

How shall I watch for thee, when fears grow stronger,
— As night grows dark and darker on the hill!
How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer!
— Ah! art thou absent, art thou absent still?

Yet I shall grieve not, though the eye that seeth me
— Gazeth through tears that make its splendor dull;
For oh! I sometimes fear when thou art with me,
— My cup of happiness is all too full.

Haste, haste thee home unto thy mountain dwelling,
— Haste, as a bird unto its peaceful nest!
Haste, as a skiff, through tempests wide and swelling,
— Flies to its haven of securest rest!
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