Bird-Notes by Evelyn Douglas [i.e. J. E. Barlas] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| IX. |
| XII. | XII
Absence. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
 | Bird-Notes |  |
28
XII Absence.
Tediously the hours creep on
Fraught with many miseries.
Glad am I when each is gone
With its sad monotonies.
Dismal, dismal is the rain
Beating on the window-pane.
Fraught with many miseries.
Glad am I when each is gone
With its sad monotonies.
Dismal, dismal is the rain
Beating on the window-pane.
I am here alone, alone;
She who was, sweet day by day,
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone,
Heart of my heart, is far away.
Dismal, dismal, the wind's flight
Moaning round the house all night
She who was, sweet day by day,
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone,
Heart of my heart, is far away.
Dismal, dismal, the wind's flight
Moaning round the house all night
I am lonely, life is void,
Restless fever preys no more.
Poesy, music, half-enjoyed,
Leave the craving heart so sore.
Dismal, dismal the stirred leaves
Rustling vaguely 'neath the eaves.
Restless fever preys no more.
Poesy, music, half-enjoyed,
Leave the craving heart so sore.
Dismal, dismal the stirred leaves
Rustling vaguely 'neath the eaves.
29
Like the soul out of my soul,
Like the life out of my life,
She is gone, and to one goal
All my thoughts wing weary strife.
Dismal, dismal the watch-dogs bay
In the farmstead far away.
Like the life out of my life,
She is gone, and to one goal
All my thoughts wing weary strife.
Dismal, dismal the watch-dogs bay
In the farmstead far away.
Why am I so prisoned here?
Why is she away from me?
Is it duty? Is it fear?
Or the harsh world's cruelty?
Dismal, dismal, my thoughts prey
On my tortured breast alway.
Why is she away from me?
Is it duty? Is it fear?
Or the harsh world's cruelty?
Dismal, dismal, my thoughts prey
On my tortured breast alway.
Yet be peaceful. Wheresoe'er
Stray her steps by this moonshine,
Still her thoughts, her love, her prayer,
Her soul almost, all are thine.
Dismal dismal, the harsh fate
To be loved but desolate.
Stray her steps by this moonshine,
Still her thoughts, her love, her prayer,
Her soul almost, all are thine.
Dismal dismal, the harsh fate
To be loved but desolate.
| Bird-Notes | |