Absence
Slow move the hours, my love, when far from thee!
The wings of Morn are heavy, and the night
With mocking dreams but tantalizes me,
And cheateth Grief with counterfeit delight.
Lo! as a pilgrim watcheth from a height
The breaking East that shall disclose his way,
I lift mine eyes to thee for strength and light,
Nor trust a lesser splendor than the day!
How long, how long, beloved, shall I pray?
How long afflict with sighs the listening dark,
Or walk with Doubt in devious paths astray?
For like the dove, black-flying to the ark,
I find in all the Earth no place to rest,
Unless imparadised upon thy faithful breast!
The wings of Morn are heavy, and the night
With mocking dreams but tantalizes me,
And cheateth Grief with counterfeit delight.
Lo! as a pilgrim watcheth from a height
The breaking East that shall disclose his way,
I lift mine eyes to thee for strength and light,
Nor trust a lesser splendor than the day!
How long, how long, beloved, shall I pray?
How long afflict with sighs the listening dark,
Or walk with Doubt in devious paths astray?
For like the dove, black-flying to the ark,
I find in all the Earth no place to rest,
Unless imparadised upon thy faithful breast!
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