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AFAR.
147
AFAR.
HERE thou art not, no day holds light for me:The brightest noontide turns to midnight deep,
Where no bird sings, and awesome shadows creep,
Persistent ghosts that hold my memory
And walk where Joy and Hope once walked with thee,
And in thy place their lonesome vigil keep,—
Sad ghosts that haunt the inmost ways of sleep,—
Ghosts whom no kindly morning makes to flee.
Their tireless footsteps never more will cease,—
Like crownless queens they tread their ancient ways,
These phantoms of old dreams and vanished days,
And mock my poor endeavours after peace.
Too long this arctic night, too keen its cold,—
Come back, strong sun, and warm me as of old.
