THE LAMB WITHOUT.
127
He passes with a pensive smile—Why do they linger to grow old,And what the burthen on their hearts?On him shall sorrow have no hold.
Within the darkened porch I stand-—Scarce knowing why, I linger long;Oh! could I call thee back to meBright bird of heaven, with sooth or song!
But no—the wayworn wretch shall pauseTo bless the shelter of this door;Kinsman and guest shall enter in,But my lost darling never more.
Yet, waiting on his gentle ghost,From sorrow's void, so deep and dull,Comes a faint breathing of delight,A presence calm and beautiful.
I have him, not in outstretched arms,I hold him, not with straining sight,While in blue depths of quietudeDrops, like a star, my still "Good-night."
