302
A SHEAF GLEANED
Love to the lover said, as far he flew,—
'O child, no ills forebode!
Have I not given thee aspirations new,
And lighter made thy load?
'Have I not waked within thy slumbering breast
Thoughts heretofore unknown,
That like a troop of birds make music blest?
Art thou not manlier grown?
'Art thou not better? vex not then thy mind,
If, subject unto change,
More bitter tears to dry, worse wounds to bind,
From place to place I range.
'Adieu! Lone dreamers elsewhere I must cheer,
And lo, I leave with thee
Friends, upon earth the only friends sincere,
The joys of memory.
'Some day I shall return, knock at thy pane,
Perhaps a suitor stand;
Who knows if thou wilt welcome me again,
And give me then thy hand?'
