Forest leaves :: :: University of Virginia Library

Oh! where art thou, my life, my love,
This grand, this solemn night?
My thoughts are with thee, as I rove
Beneath the moon's pure light.
Bright clouds upon the fitful wind,
On wandering pinions stray;
I watch them with an absent mind,
For thou art far away.

Where art thou, love? The night is fair,
And soft the breezes blow;
And many a holy watchful star
Looks down, with fervent glow:
I raise my eyes to Heaven above,
I lift my hands to pray;
Devotion dies in bleeding love,
For thou art—far away.

Within thy bosom lies my heart,
I am but one with thee;
My soul is with thee, where thou art,
And what is left of me?
I sigh—the wind that sigh returns,
As ripe leaves rustling play,
But beauty dies—my spirit mourns,
For thou art—far away.

Oh! where art Thou? And what am I?
What means this bosom's swell?
The trembling heart, the blush, the sigh,
Ah me! I know too well.
Too well I know that I am thine,
And doom'd from thee to stray;
Ten thousand torturing thoughts combine,
For thou art—far away.

Oh! where art thou, my life, my love,
Where smile thy radiant eyes?
Are they not rais'd like mine, above,
Where love immortal lies?
Oh! meet me there, with ardent heart;
At every close of day;
Until we meet, no more to part,
Where peace and rapture stay.