TO ------.
I
In such a time as this, when every heart is light,
And greetings sound more welcome, and faces smile more bright,
Oh how wearily—how wearily my spirit wanders back
Among the faded joys that lie on Memory's ruined track!
Where art thou, best and fairest? I call to thee in vain;
And thou art lone and distant far, in sickness and in pain!
II
Beloved one, if anguish would fall where fall it may,
If sorrow could be won by gifts to barter prey for prey,
There is an arm would wither, so thine revived might be,
A lip which would be still and mute, to make thy music free,
An eye which would forget to wake, to bid thy morning shine,
A heart whose very strings would break, to steal one pang from thine.
III
If this be all too wild a wish, it were a humbler prayer
That I might sit beside thy couch, watching and weeping there;
Alas, that grief should sever the hearts it most endears,—
That friends who have been joined in smiles, are parted in their tears,—
That when there's danger in the path, or poison in the bowl,
Unloving hands must minister, unloving lips console!
IV
Yet in the twilight hour, when all our hopes seem true,
And Fancy's wild imaginings take living form and hue,
I linger, and thou chidest not, beside thy lonely bed,
And do thy biddings, dearest, with slow and noiseless tread,
And tremble all the while at the feeblest wind that blows,
As if indeed its idle breath were breaking thy repose.
V
To kiss thine eyelids, when they droop with heaviness and pain,
To pour sad tears upon thy hand, the heart's most precious rain,
To mark the changing colour as it flits across thy cheek,
To feel thy very wishes ere the feverish lip can speak,
To listen for the weakest word, watch for the lightest token,
Oh bliss that such a dream should be! Oh pain that it is broken!
VI
Farewell, my best beloved; beloved, fare thee well!
I may not mourn where thou dost weep, nor be where thou dost dwell;
But when the friend I trusted all coldly turns away,
When the warmest feelings wither, and the dearest hopes decay,
To thee—to thee—thou knowest, whate'er my lot may be,
For comfort and for happiness, my spirit turns to thee.
