THE coals have lower, fainter burned; These pages, worn and finger-turned, Fade with the light. No friend is here; we are alone, My thoughts and I, while winds do moan, And speeds the night. A host of fancies fill the room, And voices whispering from the gloom Are here with me. Can thoughts take form? A well-loved face, Lit, as of old, with fairest grace, I surely see. Not length of days, not land nor sea, Have power to sever thee from me, O truest heart. To wait in patience, shine or rain, Longing until we meet again, Shall be my part. And I had doubted this, and gave Full room to aching grief, a grave Amid my dreams. Sweet vision with thy coming, ring Memories of meads and birds that sing O'er purling streams. The morning spans the eastern hills; The yearning flower its petal fills With gentle rains; All life assumes a brighter robe: e mine to trust, to love, to hope, To meet again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOUNTAIN (1) by SARA TEASDALE APPRECIATION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH WINTER RAIN by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 3 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH TWO POINTS OF VIEW: 1 by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY: OF READING by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. LO! I OPEN A DOOR by EDWARD CARPENTER |