Poems (Bushnell)/Absence

by Frances Louisa Bushnell

For works with similar titles, see Absence.

XIII
ABSENCE

Through azure realms of loneliness
 Sails the hot sun: no cloudy fleet
Convoys him o'er the trackless waste,
 Or cools his path with snowy sleep,
 Becalmed upon the tropic deep;
Or scuds, by freshening breezes chased,
Dropping swift shadows down to bless
 And make the sunlight doubly sweet.

Earth's upturned face is glad no more,
 Expressionless beneath the noon;
The listless winds in covert lie,
 Nor hunt in lightsome companies
 Through whispering grain and sighing trees
The sea sends inland no reply
To the dumb yearning of the shore,
 But ebbs away in weary swoon.

A bird in yonder thicket sings,—
 And if so be his song tells true,
In miles and miles the only bird;
 For ne'er such plaintive monotone
 Of heart companionless and lone
Was in a summer noontide heard;
Tight folded are his useless wings,
 His mate is lost beyond the blue.

Gone is the nameless charm that binds
 The outer world in kinship blest,
The interchange, the light refrain;
 And 'twixt our souls, that once were near,
 Lie leagues of stirless atmosphere,
Asleep upon a silent main:
Nothing to-day its heart-mate finds,
 Nor any answer to its quest.

One kiss of shadow or of air
 The world to lovelier life would stir;
Or, might I clasp that distant hand,
 Then love would grace for me the whole:
 So light a touch on hand or soul,
So light a touch on sea or land,
Makes all things one and all things fair.
 Wake, wind! and blow a touch from her!