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Harry by Fanny Wheeler Hart
page 60 of 88 (68%)
Have they no sense? no perception? no faith?
Are they helmless boats, without God or Creed?




Waiting, waiting, waiting, Harry, for you,
While the dreadful days drag wearily by;
I cannot wait longer--what shall I do?
For till I have kiss'd you I cannot die.

Frighten'd at every movement or sound--
Every thing except one thing forgot--
Always in terror that you have been found--
Would the _first moment_ be rapture or not?

Wandering aimlessly everywhere,
Upstairs and downstairs, from room into room,
Searching for nothing--for nothing is there,
Only the changeless impregnable gloom.

Stifled within, the cool gardens I seek;--
Like poor human souls the flowers all die;
Even the birds are refusing to speak,
Crush'd by the weight of a leaden-gray sky.

Is this the whole of it? is this the end?
Life finish'd off by a heartless Amen?
When will you write to me? when will you send?
When shall I follow you, Harry?--Ah when?
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