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169
[XXIII.
The rain-drops patter on the casement still]
The rain-drops patter on the casement still,So hushed the room each faint watch-tick I hear,
The crackling of the embers seems to fill
This brooding quiet with an accent clear:
I've looked awhile upon the gifted page,
Glanced at the dingy roofs and leaden sky,
Or paced the floor my mind to disengage,
Chiding the languid hours as they fly;
In vain! the thought of thee o'ermasters all,
Now waking joy, and now a dark surmise,
As memory spreads her banquet or her pall,
And bids me hopeless sink or gladsome rise:
On what bright wings these lonely hours would flee,
Dared I but feel that thou hast thought of me!
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