Lost

 You left me with the autumn time; 
When the winter stripped the forest bare, 
Then dressed it in his spotless rime; 
When frosts were lurking in the air
You left me here and went away.

The winds were cold; you could not stay.


You sought a warmer clime, until
The south wind, artful maid, should break
The winter's trumpets, and should fill
The air with songs of birds; and wake
The sleeping blossoms on the plain
And make the brooks to flow again.


I thought that the winter desolate, 
And all times felt a sense of loss.

I taught my longing heart to wait, 
And said, 'When Spring shall come across
The hills, with blossoms in her track, 
The she, our loved one, will come back.
'

And now the hills with grass and moss
The spring with cunning hands has spread, 
And yet I feel my grievous loss.

My heart will not be comforted, 
But crieth daily, 'Where is she
You promised should come back to me? '

Oh, love! where are you? day by day
I seek to find you, but in vain.

Men point me to a grave, and say: 
'There is her bed upon the plain.
'
But though I see no trace of you, 
I cannot thiink their words are true.


You were too sweet to wholly pass
Away from earth, and leave no trace; 
You were to fair to let the grass
Grow rank and tall above your face.

Your voice, that mocked the robin's trill, 
I cannot think is hushed and still.


I thought I saw your golden hair
One day, and reached to touch a strand; 
I found but yellow sunbeams there -
The bright rays fell aslant my hand, 
And seemed to mock, with lights and shades, 
The silken meshes of your braids.


Again, I thought I saw your hand
Wave, as if beckoning to me; 
I found 'twas but a lily, fanned
By the cool zephyrs from the sea.

Oh, love! I find no trace of you -
I wonder if their words were true? 

One day I heard a singing voice; 
A burst of music, trill on trill.

It made my very soul rejoice; 
My heart gave and exultant thrill.

I cried, 'Oh heart, we've found her - hush! '
But no - 'twas the silver-throated thrush.


And once I thought I saw your face, 
And wild with joy I ran to you; 
But found, when I had reached the place, 
'Twas a blush rose, bathed in dew.

Ah, love! I think you must be dead; 
And I believe the words they said.

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