The Heart of a Woman and Other Poems/In Quest
IN QUEST
With the first blush of morning, my soul is awing,Away o'er the phantom lands free, wandering,I seek thee in hamlet, in woodland, and hall,Till night-shades, enfolding my tired heart, fall.
Yet ever and alway, like the thrush in a tree,My heart lifts its preluding love-song to thee;I call through the days, through the long weary years,And slumber at night-fall, refreshed by my tears.