Poems by Sir Alfred C. Lyall Revised and Slightly Enlarged from "Verses Written in India" (Sixth Edition) |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
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| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. | XXII.
A QUEST IN VAIN. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
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 | Poems by Sir Alfred C. Lyall |  |
121
XXII. A QUEST IN VAIN.
“When and where shall I earliest meet her.”
[Song of my Queen.]
Yes, but the years run circling fleeter,
Ever they pass me—I watch, I wait—
Ever I dream, and awake to meet her;
She cometh never, or comes too late.
Ever they pass me—I watch, I wait—
Ever I dream, and awake to meet her;
She cometh never, or comes too late.
Should I press on? for the day grows shorter—
Ought I to linger? the far end nears;
Ever ahead have I looked, and sought her
On the bright sky line of the gathering years.
Ought I to linger? the far end nears;
Ever ahead have I looked, and sought her
On the bright sky line of the gathering years.
122
Now that the shadows are eastward sloping,
As I screen mine eyes from the slanting sun,
Cometh a thought—It is past all hoping,
Look not ahead, she is missed and gone.
As I screen mine eyes from the slanting sun,
Cometh a thought—It is past all hoping,
Look not ahead, she is missed and gone.
Here on the ridge of my upward travel
Ere the life line dips to the darkening vales,
Sadly I turn, and would fain unravel
The entangled maze of a search that fails.
Ere the life line dips to the darkening vales,
Sadly I turn, and would fain unravel
The entangled maze of a search that fails.
When and where have I seen and passed her?
What are the words I forgot to say?
Should we have met had a boat rowed faster?
Should we have loved, had I stayed that day?
What are the words I forgot to say?
Should we have met had a boat rowed faster?
Should we have loved, had I stayed that day?
Was it her face that I saw, and started,
Gliding away in a train that crossed?
Was it her form that I once, faint-hearted,
Followed awhile in a crowd and lost?
Gliding away in a train that crossed?
Was it her form that I once, faint-hearted,
Followed awhile in a crowd and lost?
123
Was it there she lived, when the train went sweeping
Under the moon through the landscape hushed?
Somebody called me, I woke from sleeping,
Saw but a hamlet—and on we rushed.
Under the moon through the landscape hushed?
Somebody called me, I woke from sleeping,
Saw but a hamlet—and on we rushed.
Listen and linger—She yet may find me
In the last faint flush of the waning light—
Never a step on the path behind me;
I must journey alone, to the lonely night.
In the last faint flush of the waning light—
Never a step on the path behind me;
I must journey alone, to the lonely night.
But is there somewhere on earth, I wonder,
A fading figure, with eyes that wait,
Who says, as she stands in the distance yonder,
‘He cometh never, or comes too late?’
A fading figure, with eyes that wait,
Who says, as she stands in the distance yonder,
‘He cometh never, or comes too late?’
| Poems by Sir Alfred C. Lyall | |