Harry by Fanny Wheeler Hart
page 60 of 88 (68%)
page 60 of 88 (68%)
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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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