Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/941

 She makes her immemorial moan, She keeps her shadowy kine; O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!

766. Return!

Return, return! all night my lamp is burning, All night, like it, my wide eyes watch and burn; Like it, I fade and pale, when day returning Bears witness that the absent can return, Return, return.

Like it, I lessen with a lengthening sadness, Like it, I burn to waste and waste to burn, Like it, I spend the golden oil of gladness To feed the sorrowy signal for return, Return, return.

Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind sings, I bend and shake; like it, I quake and yearn, When Hope's late butterflies, with whispering wings, Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn— Burn in the watchfire of return, Return, return.

Like it, the very flame whereby I pine Consumes me to its nature. While I mourn My soul becomes a better soul than mine, And from its brightening beacon I discern My starry love go forth from me, and shine Across the seas a path for thy return, Return, return.

Return, return! all night I see it burn, All night it prays like me, and lifts a twin