 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
303
THE LOVER'S CALL.
Oh! when will the sweet Spring come,
With its sunshine, odours, and flowers,
And bring my beloved one home,
To brighten the vernal hours?
Like a worthless weed or a stone
On the verge of the surging sea,
I am silent, and sad, and lone,
Bereft of thy smiles and thee.
With its sunshine, odours, and flowers,
And bring my beloved one home,
To brighten the vernal hours?
Like a worthless weed or a stone
On the verge of the surging sea,
I am silent, and sad, and lone,
Bereft of thy smiles and thee.
To the haunts where we used to rove,
My loitering footsteps go,
Where I heard thy confession of love,
So tremulous, sweet, and low:
But the rivulet seems to moan
That thou art not also there,
And the trees send a plaintive tone,
Like a sigh on the evening air.
My loitering footsteps go,
Where I heard thy confession of love,
So tremulous, sweet, and low:
But the rivulet seems to moan
That thou art not also there,
And the trees send a plaintive tone,
Like a sigh on the evening air.
I can find no charm in the day,
No calm in the sombre night;
Thou hast ta'en my repose away,
And clouded the cheerful light:
To the heart that can love thee best
Return, if still loyal to me;
Come back, that my soul may rest,—
I am weary waiting for thee.
No calm in the sombre night;
Thou hast ta'en my repose away,
And clouded the cheerful light:
To the heart that can love thee best
Return, if still loyal to me;
Come back, that my soul may rest,—
I am weary waiting for thee.
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |