A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings Edited by Edward Harston |
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 | A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings |  |
127
RETURNING.
Doves were cooing on the thatch,
And, as I onward press'd,
I found a little mossy nest
Built on the wooden latch.
Woodbines twin'd the window o'er,
And on its rustic frame
I saw the letters of her name
That I carv'd long before.
And, as I onward press'd,
I found a little mossy nest
Built on the wooden latch.
Woodbines twin'd the window o'er,
And on its rustic frame
I saw the letters of her name
That I carv'd long before.
I look'd within—she was not there
The narrow room to grace—
Her wheel was silent, and her chair
Stood empty in its place.
I wonder'd why thou didst not meet
Thy wand'rer on his way:—
But daisies in the grass were sweet
Above thy head that day.
The narrow room to grace—
Her wheel was silent, and her chair
Stood empty in its place.
I wonder'd why thou didst not meet
Thy wand'rer on his way:—
But daisies in the grass were sweet
Above thy head that day.
128
Thy love was like a linked chain
That reach'd across the sea,
But snapt asunder, when I fain
Had drawn its end to me:—
A sunbeam that at distance cheer'd
That cold and dreary shore,
But faded as my footsteps near'd
The threshold of thy door!
That reach'd across the sea,
But snapt asunder, when I fain
Had drawn its end to me:—
A sunbeam that at distance cheer'd
That cold and dreary shore,
But faded as my footsteps near'd
The threshold of thy door!
Asleep, asleep, then take thy rest,
And since it needs must be,
'Tis well it troubleth not thy breast,
That all is lost to me.
Yes! all is lost, for who can tell
How chang'd are moor and lake,
For truly, though I lov'd them well,
'Twas only for thy sake.
And since it needs must be,
'Tis well it troubleth not thy breast,
That all is lost to me.
Yes! all is lost, for who can tell
How chang'd are moor and lake,
For truly, though I lov'd them well,
'Twas only for thy sake.
And what to me is English air,
Or this mild autumn sun,
Since the twin spirit is not there?
Here am I still undone,
For in the world I had but one
Katharina!
Or this mild autumn sun,
Since the twin spirit is not there?
Here am I still undone,
For in the world I had but one
Katharina!
| A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings | |