The Vacant Room
Ah, wraith-lit star, that shone afar,
And lured my eager footsteps on!
This door I pass, and find, alas,
The friend for whom I long’d is gone.
O think how drear mere sands appear
To travellers worn who pray for springs.
More drear this place without the face
I sought to cheer my wanderings.
Have diamonds rare no gleams to spare
The light that their own light would shun?
Do roses droop when many a group
Of clouds crowd off the autumn sun?
The gem and rose less dull repose
When all are gone that caused their worth,
Than lip and eye when none are nigh
With smiles that break in bursts of mirth.
Are lovers wild, when maidens mild
Their wisest ways of wooing shun?
Do mothers weep, when waked from sleep
Whose dream restored a long-lost son?
Ah, scarce the man’s or mother’s plans
Appear so rudely overthrown,
As his whose thought in vain here sought
A word to echo back his own.
But time speeds on, and duties wan,
Like ghosts untombed, forbid my stay;
But though I go, this note shall show
The loss, my friend, you cause to-day.
It craves a thought for him who sought
A sight of eyes that light it now;
For him who waits till kindlier fates
His hopes a kindlier fate allow.