Poems (Sherwin)/To the absent one
TO THE ABSENT ONE.
I miss thee when the kindling east Is flecked at early dawn with red; And earth seems all a dreary waste, For joy from my sad heart hath fled.
I miss thee when the glowing day Hath shed her light on hill and glen, And when I feel its genial ray, How much, dear child, I miss thee then.
I miss thee in the twilight shade, When wandering through the meadow fair, And breathe thy name through every glade, But all in vain—thou art not there.