Freston
91
UNREQUITED
I feel to-day that I am growing old,
Around my heart slow creeps the chilling cold
Of unrequited love.
Back from the ark, Youth launched upon Life's sea,
No bird flies with its olive branch to me,—
No tender white winged dove.
Around my heart slow creeps the chilling cold
Of unrequited love.
Back from the ark, Youth launched upon Life's sea,
No bird flies with its olive branch to me,—
No tender white winged dove.
The age that creeps upon me is not years,
But shattered faith, and unavailing tears,
And loneliness supreme.
The sight of Aspiration's broken wing,
The constant presence of this mocking thing,—
This spectre of a dream.
But shattered faith, and unavailing tears,
And loneliness supreme.
The sight of Aspiration's broken wing,
The constant presence of this mocking thing,—
This spectre of a dream.
Stern conscience gravely points to tasks undone,
Brood-browed Ambition proudly urges on,
But, tired in heart and soul,
I heed them not, I can no farther go,
But sit here by dead Hope, for well I know
Love waits not at the goal.
Brood-browed Ambition proudly urges on,
But, tired in heart and soul,
I heed them not, I can no farther go,
But sit here by dead Hope, for well I know
Love waits not at the goal.
