Poems (E. L. F.)/The watcher
THE WATCHER.
He came not; and the lonely night, With its dim clouds, gathered near;And I watched till the aching pang of sight Was quenched in the glistening tear.
And I list for the distant sound and low, Of the oar on the ocean wave;For there is a calm on the waters now, As deep as the silent grave.
Yet I hear no sound but my own heart-beat Throb on the midnight air;And the one wild wish that we may meet, Is hushed in a voiceless prayer.
Oh, maiden! why dost thou tarry there? Hath the wave no tale for thee! Let it shriek forth with a wild despair, And its dirge, eternity.
For the bark went down, and the waters rose, Encircling each spirit's strife,And the stream flowed on with a calm repose, Unheeding that waste of life.