Poems (Chitwood)/Harold to Ernestine
HAROLD TO ERNESTINE.
Only tell me that yon love me, only tell me I am dear;I am pining, I am pining those beloved words to hear.Press your hands, so soft and cooling, gently, gently on my brow;Look into mine eyes and tell me that you love me even now.
Let my head upon your bosom, for one little moment rest;Let me feel the uneven throbbing of the heart to which I'm pressed:Then, while comes the rosy burning like a blossom to my cheek,Let me close my eyes and listen to the whispers that you speak.
Though there is a gulf between us, deep and fathomless and wide;Though no vow may ever bind us—though the future must divide,And the farewell words be spoken with no teardrop in the eye;—Tell me only that you love me, as the star-beams love the sky;
As the waters of the ocean love the misty, solemn moon;As the rose-buds love the kisses of the golden hearted June;As the ripples love the river, as the lilies love the dew;As the heart within my bosom loves to throb, and throb for you.
And the words will linger near me, through the darkness and the day,Through the sunlight and the moonlight and the gloaming's purple ray;Through the tempest, through the battle, through my lonesome path below:—Tell me only that you love me; bless me once before I go.
By the rock, the throb and flutter of the heart beside by own;By the sobs that you are choking, by the anguish of your tone;By the tears that in the moonlight trickle down and sadly shine;By the ashy lips that tremble as I press them close to mine:—
You arc telling the sweet story by the tear-drop and the sigh;You are waiting to grow calmer, you will speak it by and by! I am going, darling, going; have I wept and urged in vain?Tell me that you madly love me, though we never meet again.