 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
288
THE SUN IS LOW.
I sit and wait for you, Dear, my Dear,
Now the sun is low;
From the far-off town the path runs clear,
And the way you know—
The old, old way that brought you here,
In the Long-Ago.
Now the sun is low;
From the far-off town the path runs clear,
And the way you know—
The old, old way that brought you here,
In the Long-Ago.
The white moon climbs, and looks at me—
Her smile is cold;
Something she sees that I do not see—
The moon is old.
Her smile is cold;
Something she sees that I do not see—
The moon is old.
I catch a sigh from the winds that flee
Across the wold—
What is the secret they hide from me?—
They have not told.
Across the wold—
What is the secret they hide from me?—
They have not told.
To Lethe-country your steps were set—
Did you taste that spring
That makes the heart of a man forget
The dearest thing?
Did you taste that spring
That makes the heart of a man forget
The dearest thing?
289
Nay! I sit and wait for you, Dear, my Dear,
For the sun is low—
From your far-off place the path runs clear,
And you still must know
The old, old way that brought you here
In the Long-Ago.
For the sun is low—
From your far-off place the path runs clear,
And you still must know
The old, old way that brought you here
In the Long-Ago.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |