 | Poems |  |
377
HAUNTED.
Who is it's teasing me!
Who is it's pleasing me!
Who is it's haunting my thoughts and my dreams!
There's one, by day and night,
Evermore in my sight,
No more to be from my presence, it seems.
Who is it's pleasing me!
Who is it's haunting my thoughts and my dreams!
There's one, by day and night,
Evermore in my sight,
No more to be from my presence, it seems.
Not a bad sprite, it is;
Not to affright, it is
Hovering before me, and in my eyes still;
Not a bad goblin 'tis,
Not for the world you'd kiss;
Never, with fits of fear, any 'twill fill.
Not to affright, it is
Hovering before me, and in my eyes still;
Not a bad goblin 'tis,
Not for the world you'd kiss;
Never, with fits of fear, any 'twill fill.
No—not a fear to me,
No—but how dear to me,
Rather an angel it seems or a fay;
From gloom or sunny air,
Still looks that face so fair,
Sunning the night still and brightening the day.
No—but how dear to me,
Rather an angel it seems or a fay;
From gloom or sunny air,
Still looks that face so fair,
Sunning the night still and brightening the day.
O, spirit, grieve me not!
O, dear one, leave me not!
Smiling and tender, still float in my sight!
Never must we two part,
Angel that haunts my heart,
Ever day's dearest thought—best dream of night.
O, dear one, leave me not!
Smiling and tender, still float in my sight!
Never must we two part,
Angel that haunts my heart,
Ever day's dearest thought—best dream of night.
Or, if thou from me steal,
Thou whom I cannot feel,
Thou t'wards whom vainly these longing arms start,
Leave, this blest clasp to fill,
One who is dearer still,
She whose dear shadow, sweet phantom, thou art!
Thou whom I cannot feel,
Thou t'wards whom vainly these longing arms start,
Leave, this blest clasp to fill,
One who is dearer still,
She whose dear shadow, sweet phantom, thou art!
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