THE LOVER WAITS
I think this waiting will wear out my heart;
But ever 't was, that he who loves must wait—
'T is part of all Love's hunger, nor would I
Forego one gleam of his irradiant wings:
His pains are sweeter than another's joy. . . .
The stars to-night seem curious, and peer
Beyond the unstirring leaves, as tho' to say:
"Lover, alas! we 've seen all this before,
And know the silence that must end it all."
But they—the night of God shall still them each
Who give me now their pity or their scorn,
And deem that love is naught because it dies.
Little they know the wings that wait its Dream!
I'd sift the constellations for her brow,
To leave her crowned forever. Foolish lights,
I tell you that her eyes are Love's despair,
And all her beauty pain for very gods,
So fair is she! But she will not come forth
And let my heart forget that you exist
Or land or sea—only that Eden's mine,
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