Poems (E. L. F.)/The watcher

by E. L. F.

THE WATCHER.

He came not; and the lonely night,
 With its dim clouds, gathered near;
And I watched till the aching pang of sight
 Was quenched in the glistening tear.

And I list for the distant sound and low,
 Of the oar on the ocean wave;
For there is a calm on the waters now,
 As deep as the silent grave.

Yet I hear no sound but my own heart-beat
 Throb on the midnight air;
And the one wild wish that we may meet,
 Is hushed in a voiceless prayer.

Oh, maiden! why dost thou tarry there?
 Hath the wave no tale for thee!
Let it shriek forth with a wild despair,
 And its dirge, eternity.

For the bark went down, and the waters rose,
 Encircling each spirit's strife,
And the stream flowed on with a calm repose,
 Unheeding that waste of life.