Specula

 When He appoints to meet thee, go thou forth— 
It matters not 
If south or north, 
Bleak waste or sunny plot.
 
Nor think, if haply He thou seek’st be late, 
He does thee wrong.
 
To stile or gate 
Lean thou thy head, and long! 
It may be that to spy thee He is mounting 
Upon a tower, 
Or in thy counting 
Thou hast mista’en the hour.
 
But, if He comes not, neither do thou go 
Till Vesper chime.
 
Belike thou then shalt know 
He hath been with thee all the time.

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