When, in that hour which saw us part,
My faltering voice refused to tell
The anguish of an aching heart,
From thy sweet lips these accents fell
“Thou leav'st me on a darkened strand,
“And, fading from my faithful eye,
“Like Light thou passest from the land,
“And I will follow—or I die.”
I wait, I watch, as from a tower,
On leaden wings the minutes move!
Thou comest not, nor comes the hour
That brings me tidings of my love.
I wait—and Morning comes indeed!
I watch her glowing steps encroach
Upon the dark, and think to read
The signal of thy sweet approach;
Or draw, when twilight veils the world,
Vague promise from the rich array
Of clouds, like banners half unfurled,
That droop above the dying day.
So Morn and Eve, that slow succeed,
By turns my futile fancy fire,
And bring but lying thoughts to feed
An ever-unfulfilled desire.
But these blank, bitter hours that still
The daily death of hope renew,
Are weak to vanquish Love, and kill
The cherished thought that counts thee true.