Page:Poems by Frances Fuller Victor.djvu/96

 And this fair evening, with remembrance teeming,

Pierces my soul with every sharp regret;

The sweetest beauty saddens to my seeming,

Since all that's fair forbids me to forget.

Eyes that have gazed upon yon silver crescent,

'Till filled with light, then turned to gaze in mine,

Lips that could clothe a fancy evanescent,

In words whose magic thrilled the brain like wine:

Hands that have wreathed June's roses in my tresses,

And gathered violets to deck my breast,

Where are ye now? I miss your dear caresses—

I miss the lips, the eyes, that made me blest.

Lonely I sit and watch the fitful burning

Of prairie fires, far off, through gathering gloom;

While the young moon, and one bright star returning

Down the blue solitude, leave Night their room.

Gone is the glimmer of the silent river,

Hushed is the wind that op'ed the leaves today;

Alone through silence falls the crystal shiver

Of the sweet starlight, on its earthward way.

And yet I wait, how vainly, for a token—

A sigh, a touch, a whisper from the past;

Alas, I listen for a word unspoken,

And wait for arms that have embraced their last.

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