 | Lays of Leisure Hours |  |
THOU ART NOT HERE.
Thou art not here—thou art not here,
And all is desolate and drear—
All—all that once seemed more than bright
Is worse than gloomy in my sight!
And all is desolate and drear—
All—all that once seemed more than bright
Is worse than gloomy in my sight!
The Indifferent still these scenes may view,
Nor miss one charm, one smiling hue,
While they admire these prospects fair,
My Soul is sighing—“Where—Oh! where?”
Nor miss one charm, one smiling hue,
While they admire these prospects fair,
My Soul is sighing—“Where—Oh! where?”
119
While they who love not wear away
In sweet repose the live-long day,
From Morning dawn till dawn again—
My heart still whispereth—“When—Oh! when?”
In sweet repose the live-long day,
From Morning dawn till dawn again—
My heart still whispereth—“When—Oh! when?”
While they in calm contentment move,
Which never dwells with suffering love,
My Soul still asks, without reply,
With feverish yearnings—“Why—Oh! why?”
Which never dwells with suffering love,
My Soul still asks, without reply,
With feverish yearnings—“Why—Oh! why?”
| Lays of Leisure Hours | |