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POEMS.
APART.
The homeless wind sweeps up the rack
From the waste of turbid sea;
I shudder to think that dismal waste
Lieth 'tween thee and me,
Lieth 'tween thee and me,
And the dun earth shrouds thy breast;
But I know the verdant grass and flowers
Arc tender of thy rest.
Heavily down on the eerie wind
Beats the frozen winter rain,-
It throbs in the deep, dark forest depths
Like a human heart in pain,
Like a human heart in pain,
As my own throbs on to-night,
Thinking of thee in the cold and dark,
And I in the warmth and light.
Never a message cometh to me;
Oh, how cruel it seems!
(5)
