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92
MY LOVE: WHERE ART THOU?
My Love, where art thou? Crowding waves
Press ever on the strait confine
Of the still spirit-haunted shore
Where my soul waiteth thine.
Press ever on the strait confine
Of the still spirit-haunted shore
Where my soul waiteth thine.
My Love, where art thou? Once, ah once,
Thy vision in the clamorous mart
Had drawn me surely from the throng
To a chamber set apart
Thy vision in the clamorous mart
Had drawn me surely from the throng
To a chamber set apart
Where weaving from its finest strand
My spirit fashioned for thy shrine
A veil to shroud thee from a gaze
Raised unabashed to thine.
My spirit fashioned for thy shrine
A veil to shroud thee from a gaze
Raised unabashed to thine.
93
But now, where art thou? Say not, lost!
The sanctuary of thought is bare:
The shrine where stood thy picture shows
The wan face of Despair.
The sanctuary of thought is bare:
The shrine where stood thy picture shows
The wan face of Despair.
Not ‘lost’—the low sweet voice that bade
Me wait the lapse of dragging years:
Not ‘lost’—my vision in the throng
Now dimly seen through tears.
Me wait the lapse of dragging years:
Not ‘lost’—my vision in the throng
Now dimly seen through tears.
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