 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
210
NEAR, YET FAR.
So near! and yet, I think, as far apart
As heaven from hell, high noon from darkest night,
Or buried face, from longing lover's sight:
I dream of you, and then from dreams I start
To hear the beating of my own sad heart,
That snatched from dreams impossible delight,
But quickly wakes again, in wretched plight,
To meet the day's keen pain and ceaseless smart.
As heaven from hell, high noon from darkest night,
Or buried face, from longing lover's sight:
I dream of you, and then from dreams I start
To hear the beating of my own sad heart,
That snatched from dreams impossible delight,
But quickly wakes again, in wretched plight,
To meet the day's keen pain and ceaseless smart.
How shall I comfort, then, my lonesome years—
Since dreams are dim, and sleeping time is brief—?
For very full I am of restless fears,
Blown to and fro, as is a vagrant leaf;
And well I know how idle are the tears
That burn my aching eyes, yet mock my grief.
Since dreams are dim, and sleeping time is brief—?
For very full I am of restless fears,
Blown to and fro, as is a vagrant leaf;
And well I know how idle are the tears
That burn my aching eyes, yet mock my grief.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |