 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
TRACKS.
My lost love, your spirit such quietude brings,
I know that you live, and are well, as I know
By the tracks of the birds that I see in the snow,
That songs must be somewhere, that somewhere are wings.
I know that you live, and are well, as I know
By the tracks of the birds that I see in the snow,
That songs must be somewhere, that somewhere are wings.
Lost, yet you were never all lost for a day;
I know you are gone to your higher estate,
And sitting low down in the shadows, I wait
Till I too am ripe to be gathered away.
I know you are gone to your higher estate,
And sitting low down in the shadows, I wait
Till I too am ripe to be gathered away.
203
Never lost, never lost! yet, my dear little friend,
I miss the glad light of your wonderful eyes;
And something I miss from the earth and the skies,
That will not, and cannot come back, to the end.
I miss the glad light of your wonderful eyes;
And something I miss from the earth and the skies,
That will not, and cannot come back, to the end.
Our paths through the fields seem to be as strange ways;
I wish that some night I could dream a sweet dream,
Wherein the old nights and the old days would seem
Like the old happy nights and the happy old days.
I wish that some night I could dream a sweet dream,
Wherein the old nights and the old days would seem
Like the old happy nights and the happy old days.
I wish you could leave the good angels above!
I wish I could have you, just one fleeting hour,
To hold in my bosom, my sweet little flower,
And tell you the height and the depth of my love.
I wish I could have you, just one fleeting hour,
To hold in my bosom, my sweet little flower,
And tell you the height and the depth of my love.
Sometimes such a doubt from the last darkness springs;
My heart turneth sick, and my faith falleth low,
But when the faint bird-tracks appear in the snow,
I trust and believe in the songs and the wings.
My heart turneth sick, and my faith falleth low,
But when the faint bird-tracks appear in the snow,
I trust and believe in the songs and the wings.
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |