 | Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) |  |
79
LOST LIGHT.
My heart is chilled and my pulse is slow,
But often and often will memory go,
Like a blind child lost in a waste of snow,
Back to the days when I loved you so,—
The beautiful long ago.
But often and often will memory go,
Like a blind child lost in a waste of snow,
Back to the days when I loved you so,—
The beautiful long ago.
I sit here, dreaming them through and through,
The blissful moments I shared with you,—
The sweet, sweet days when our love was new,
When I was trustful and you were true,—
Beautiful days, but few.
The blissful moments I shared with you,—
The sweet, sweet days when our love was new,
When I was trustful and you were true,—
Beautiful days, but few.
Blest or wretched, fettered or free,
Why should I care how your life may be,
Or whether you wander by land or sea?
I only know you are dead to me,
Ever and hopelessly.
Why should I care how your life may be,
Or whether you wander by land or sea?
I only know you are dead to me,
Ever and hopelessly.
80
O, how often at day's decline,
I pushed from my window the curtaining vine,
To see from your lattice the lamplight shine,—
Type of a message that, half divine,
Flashed from your heart to mine.
I pushed from my window the curtaining vine,
To see from your lattice the lamplight shine,—
Type of a message that, half divine,
Flashed from your heart to mine.
Once more the starlight is silvering all;
The roses sleep by the garden wall,
The night-bird warbles his madrigal,
And I hear again through the sweet air fall
The evening bugle-call.
The roses sleep by the garden wall,
The night-bird warbles his madrigal,
And I hear again through the sweet air fall
The evening bugle-call.
But summers will vanish and years will wane,
And bring no light to your window-pane;
Nor gracious sunshine nor patient rain,
Can bring dead love back to life again:
I call up the past in vain.
And bring no light to your window-pane;
Nor gracious sunshine nor patient rain,
Can bring dead love back to life again:
I call up the past in vain.
My heart is heavy, my heart is old,
And that proves dross which I counted gold;
I watch no longer your curtain's fold,
The window is dark and the night is cold,
And the story forever told.
And that proves dross which I counted gold;
I watch no longer your curtain's fold,
The window is dark and the night is cold,
And the story forever told.
| Poems by Elizabeth Akers (Florence Percy) | |