At Dusk
At dusk, like flowers that shun the day,Shy thoughts from dim recesses break,And plead for words I dare not sayFor your sweet sake.
My early love! my first, my last!Mistakes have been that both must rue;But all the passion of the pastSurvives for you.
The tender message Hope might sendSinks fainting at the lips of speech,For, are you lover—are you friend,That I would reach?
How much to-night I’d give to winA banished peace—an old repose;But here I sit, and sigh, and sinWhen no one knows.
The stern, the steadfast reticence,Which made the dearest phrases halt,And checked a first and finest sense,Was not my fault.
I held my words because there grewAbout my life persistent pride;And you were loved, who never knewWhat love could hide!
This purpose filled my soul like flame:To win you wealth and take the placeWhere care is not, nor any shameTo vex your face.
I said “Till then my heart must keepIts secrets safe and unconfest;”And days and nights unknown to sleepThe vow attest.
Yet, oh! my sweet, it seems so longSince you were near; and fates retardThe sequel of a struggle strong,And life is hard—
Too hard, when one is left aloneTo wrestle passion, never freeTo turn and say to you, “My own,Come home to me!”