Love’s Old Sweet Song

The Outcast

THOU wilt come back again, but not for me,
Fair little face!
Thou wilt come back, but, ah! I may not see
        That day of grace.

No sword is at the Eden’s gate I leave;
        But viewless hands
Have thrust me into endless night, to grieve
        In loveless lands.

Thou wilt come back: thy footsteps make the spring,
        And birds sing round;
But I, in wilderness wandering,
        Shall hear no sound;

Save as far off the traveller athirst
        In desert lands,
Hears waters that he may not reach, accursed
        In endless sands.

Love Lies Bleeding.