XXXII. ‘Thou only wert my hope, and thou art gone’
Thou only wert my hope, and thou art gone.
Thou, the one star in monotones of sky,
Art vanished like a meteor, and I,
Lost in the night, have ceased to pray for dawn.
I watched thee fade, I saw thee passing by
And tried to call thee, but my lips were dumb;
It had been better hadst thou never come,—
Remembered riches mock my poverty.
Blow from afar the little sounds of bells,
Wood-smoke hangs thinly on the autumn air,
The town’s unconscious hush is like a prayer,
And night sleeps pleasantly among the dells;
I only wander on, and know not where,
Through the great dark, pursued by faint farewells.
