Poems (Freston)/Yearning

by Elizabeth Heléne Freston

For works with similar titles, see Yearning.

"YEARNING"

The guests have all departed,
And the hour is very late,
Still I sit here, sadly wondering
Why so joyless was the fête.

Wondering, said I? Nay not wondering,
For I know the reason why
My sad heart, instead of pleasure,
Felt the burden of a sigh.

'Twas because thy place was vacant,
'Twas because thou wert not here
That the laughter held no music
And the evening seemed so drear.

There are many fairer, nobler
Holding forth true hands to me,
Why must I thus turn me ever
From all the world save thee?

Ah, I know not, but I love thee!
And thy face to me, my own,
Is the dearest, and there's music
For me in thy lightest tone.

There are nobler? yes, perhaps so,
But my heart bows down to thee,
And although thy faults were legion
Thou art still the best to me.

Did the others also miss thee?
Did they feel thine absence pain?
Did they dream that with thy coming
Would return the light again?

I know not! but to my own heart
The slow hours passed, one by one,
Like these flowers I fling by because
Their sweetness all is flown.

Why is it that the gift most prized
Fate always doth deny?
Why is it that the sweetest thought
Is followed by a sigh.

O Sovereign power of loving!
The hearts most worthy thee,
Are those that feel most keenly
Thy pitiless decree.