Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/335

302 Love to the lover said, as far he flew,—
 * 'O child, no ills forebode!

Have I not given thee aspirations new,
 * And lighter made thy load?

'Have I not waked within thy slumbering breast
 * Thoughts heretofore unknown,

That like a troop of birds make music blest?
 * Art thou not manlier grown?

'Art thou not better? vex not then thy mind,
 * If, subject unto change,

More bitter tears to dry, worse wounds to bind,
 * From place to place I range.

'Adieu! Lone dreamers elsewhere I must cheer,
 * And lo, I leave with thee

Friends, upon earth the only friends sincere,
 * The joys of memory.

'Some day I shall return, knock at thy pane,
 * Perhaps a suitor stand;

Who knows if thou wilt welcome me again,
 * And give me then thy hand?'