Your Absence
What lenthy lenthy journey you've made
That I haven't the pride to sigh
The silence breath of your presence
Waiting is growing old,
And patience losing strength;
Our brave old past
Is now my coward present,
And I fear ever now
That you might have gone
Never to return.
Glory does not deserve a day,
Nor relief a single hour.
Alas! a needle is shot into my feeling:
Heart of roses has received gall,
And vains of life acute pain.
Why this long long journey,
And this endless endless waiting,
That I haven't the honour to sigh
The fresh relief of your presence.