Page:Carroll - Three Sunsets.djvu/21

THREE SUNSETS. He sat beside the busy street,
 * There, where he last had seen her face;

And thronging memories, bitter-sweet,
 * Seemed yet to haunt the ancient place:

Her footfall ever floated near: Her voice was ever in his ear. He sometimes, as the daylight waned
 * And evening mists began to roll,

In half-soliloquy complained
 * Of that black shadow on his soul,

And blindly fanned, with cruel care, The ashes of a vain despair.

The summer fled: the lonely man
 * Still lingered out the lessening days;

Still, as the night drew on, would scan
 * Each passing face with closer gaze—

Till, sick at heart, he turned away, And sighed "she will not come to-day."

So by degrees his spirit bent
 * To mock its own despairing cry,

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