Sonnet

In every dream the lovely features rise;
I see them in the sunshine of the day;
Thy form is flitting still before my eyes
Where'er at eve I tread my lonely way;
In every moaning wind I hear thee say
Sweet words of consolation, while thee sighs
Seem borne along on every blast that flies;
I live, I talk with thee where'er I stray:
And yet thou never more shalt come to me
On earth, for though art in a world of bliss,
And fairer still - if fairer thou canst be -
Than when thou bloomed'st for a while in this.
Few be my days of loneliness and pain
Until I meet in love with thee again.

This page hosted by
Get your own Free Home Page