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A SHORT SEPARATION: HE
AH summer, with this night you crown the year!
The golden moon her richest treasure flings
O'er fragrant grassy slopes,—the cricket sings
With cheery tinkle, yet my listening ear
Finds tender sorrow in its cadence clear,—
Past the warm meadows bathed in misty light,
I seek the woodland path where yesternight
We wandered arm in arm.—Now I am here
Alone:—The whippoorwill sings from the bough
Not, "Whippoorwill" he sings, but "Where art thou? "
My grieving heart but echoes back his strain,
Throbbing this perfect night with new-born pain,
For all this loveliness I fain would share,
Whispers my dreaming heart "Where is she, where?"
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