Page:Poems Craik.djvu/208

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190
LOST IN THE MIST.
The very flicker of the fire
Upon the patterned ground:
O that I were the shepherd-dog
That guards their happy door!
Or even the silly household eat
That basks upon the floor!

O that I sat one minute's space
Where I have sat so long!
O that I heard one little word
Sweeter than angel's song!
A pause—and then the table fills,
The harmless mirth brims o'er;
While I—O can it be God's will?—
I die, outside the door.

My body fails—my desperate soul
Struggles before it go:
The bleak air 's full of voices wild,
But not the voice I know;
Dim shapes come wandering through the dark:
With mocking, curious stares,
Faces long strange peer glimmering by—
But not one face of theirs.

Lost, lost, and such a little way
From that dear sheltering door!
Lost, lost, out of the loving arms
Left empty evermore!