I may, perchance, a thousand miles go tread,
Yet find no hearth to warm my weary feet;
For all the world is but a wasteland spread,
Without Thy presence, nothing is complete.
Within my breast Thy gentle soul I hold,
Yet I embrace but shadow, mist, and ash;
A phantom shape, a story already told,
A sudden lightning in the thunder’s crash.
Thy voice remains the only sound I seek,
Thy ghost, the master of my silent way;
Though I am strong, my spirit groweth weak,
In waiting for a sun that cannot stay.
So, let me roam, a pilgrim in Thy name,
For Home is lost, since Thou art but a flame.
O’er faded streets where once we used to tread;
To hollow sound my lonely footsteps turn,
Within this town where life itself is dead.
That sudden stroke my purpose did destroy,
Upon the land where death met love’s embrace;
No fuel remains to kindle former joy,
In this void world I find no hallowed trace.
The weary years like fleeting months take wing,
Both gold and might are naught but useless dross;
A simple end may death or murder bring,
A wretched town of shadows and of loss.
Yet search the dark, look where the phantoms flee:
Canst thou find there the one once dear to thee?
***
The light of sun enrobes the winter day,
The sky is clear, the frost is soft and mild;
Within my heart no joy can find its way,
Without the light of thy most radiant smile.
In every walk, in every step I follow,
My wand’ring trace is left to roam alone;
Thou hauntest me, but all the world is hollow,
The stroll is vain, since thy dear soul hath gone.
So why to this bleak world should I be kind,
When thou art lost, and life is cold and blind?
***
The winter’s frost doth wage a bitter fight,
And beats against my cabin’s wooden breast;
While I, within the hearthfire’s golden light,
In gentle warmth and holy safety rest.
No cold may touch my limbs, nor reach my soul,
For love hath built a fortress in this place;
The raging winds beyond have no control,
While I behold the beauty of thy face.
And lo! Above the shadows of the room,
Two emerald stars do shine with velvet fire;
They pierce the winter’s grey and heavy gloom,
To grant the peace my weary thoughts desire.
Though tempests howl and all the world be cold,
Thy green-eyed love is all the wealth I hold.
