No sound on lonesome mornings the lonely watcher greets,
But the frosty pane is impressed with the shadow of coming wings.



WAITING.


I know not where you wait for me in all your maiden sweetness,
Sweet soul in whom my life will find its rest, its full completeness;
But somewhere you await me, Fate will lead us to each other,
As roses know the sunlight, so shall we know one another.

Dear heart, what are you doing in this twilight's purple splendor,
Do you tend your dewy flowers with fingers white and slender,
Heavy, odor-laden branches in blessing bent above you,
Fond lilies kneeling at your feet, winds murmuring they love you?

Mayhap, your heart in maiden peace is like a closed bud sleeping,
Wrapped in pure folds of saintly thought, its tender freshness
keeping.
Yet like a dream that comes in sleep, your soul sweet quiet
breaking,
Is a thought of me, my darling, that shall come true on waking.

Perchance you turn from passionate vows, words wild with
love's sweet madness,
With soft eyes looking far sway, in yearning trust and sadness;
A look that tells his alien soul how widely you are parted,
Though he knows not whom your rapt eyes seek, my sweet,