Poems (Allen)/Prophecy

by Elizabeth Chase Allen

For works with similar titles, see Prophecy.

PROPHECY.

HERE 'S a clasp upon my fingers,
  There's a kiss upon my brow,
In my ear Love's breathing lingers,—
  But, alas, it is not thou!
Since I walk no more with thee,
O, the days have come to be
Dreary, dreary unto me;—
  Best beloved, where art thou?

In these sweet, prophetic mornings,
  When the brown buds load the bough,
And the air brings summer warnings,
  All my heart cries, "Where art thou?"
Still my heart, forevermore
Yearning toward the misty shore,
Keeps repeating o'er and o'er,
  "Best beloved, where art thou?"

When my soul grows faint with pining,
  And at death's behest I bow,
On some kindly breast reclining
  I shall sigh, "Would it were thou!
Unforgotten, dearest, best,
Would that thy most faithful breast
Could have pillowed my last rest,—
  O beloved, were it thou!"

Gentle voices breathe around me
  Words with fondest meaning blent;
Love's most tender care has crowned me
  With all blessings but content;
O the blessed days of old!
O the love too long untold!
O the years so dark and cold,
  And their burden, "Were it thou!"