 | Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 |  |
85
AN ANSWER.
You missed me? Well, perhaps you might
When o'er the Common boomed the gun,
As the last rays of crimson light
Shot up from the descending sun,
And the grey gloom of evening stole
Over the sullen, silent sea,
Something might whisper to your soul,
“There was one here who cared for me.”
When o'er the Common boomed the gun,
As the last rays of crimson light
Shot up from the descending sun,
And the grey gloom of evening stole
Over the sullen, silent sea,
Something might whisper to your soul,
“There was one here who cared for me.”
“Cared,” 'tis a better word than “loved,”
Which has been worn so sadly bare,
By thousands who have never proved
That in their love was any care.
Nay more—who would have flung away
The fondest heart that ever beat,
If summoned for a single day
One serious care for it to meet.
Which has been worn so sadly bare,
By thousands who have never proved
That in their love was any care.
Nay more—who would have flung away
The fondest heart that ever beat,
If summoned for a single day
One serious care for it to meet.
But be it feeling—be it flame,
By far too much a woman you,
Not to have seen—whate'er its name,
That it is tender, deep, and true.
And though it might not touch her heart,
There never yet was woman known,
With one who prized her so, could part
And feel not—for a space—alone.
By far too much a woman you,
Not to have seen—whate'er its name,
That it is tender, deep, and true.
86
There never yet was woman known,
With one who prized her so, could part
And feel not—for a space—alone.
How lonely, then, must he have felt,
Who anxious watch had o'er you kept,
And worshipping in silence knelt
Beside your couch the while you slept.
Oh how much more must he have missed
That form so fair—that voice so sweet,
The hand that he had held and kissed, The while his heart was at your feet.
Who anxious watch had o'er you kept,
And worshipping in silence knelt
Beside your couch the while you slept.
Oh how much more must he have missed
That form so fair—that voice so sweet,
The hand that he had held and kissed, The while his heart was at your feet.
There! Smile—or, if it please you, scoff,
Both you and I believe in fate;
We cannot cast our natures off,
Some live to love—some live to hate.
What I have lived for, oft I've sung,
'Tis all I live for now I'm old;
For still I feel my heart is young,
And will but in the grave be cold.
Both you and I believe in fate;
We cannot cast our natures off,
Some live to love—some live to hate.
What I have lived for, oft I've sung,
'Tis all I live for now I'm old;
For still I feel my heart is young,
And will but in the grave be cold.
| Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 | |