POETRY.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 153, 30 November 1874, Page 3

POETRY.

AT THE OLD GATE. And so, we have met here again, love : Here is my hand once more ; And with it the heart, now stricken— So proud in the days of yore. I knew not how much that I loved you, When that word was spoken by me That sundered our lives that night, dear, And sent you over the sea. Here I have sat all alone, love, In the first fresh hours of Spring, When the blackbird filled the twilight With the songs that it used to sing In the golden fall of that Autumn That buried my heart’s delight : But never a song could I sing, love, In the calm of the falling night. I have waited long by this gate, love, For a gleam of the days of old, When the sunsets of Summer came down, love, On their wings of amber and gold, And lingered amongst the tassels Of that bright laburnum tree : There was glory above, ’mid the branches, But never a gleam for me. You thought that my heart was cold, love— I knew that it seemed so then ; But maidens of seventeen years, dear, Are not to be judged with men. There’s a beauty of trust we must soar to, There’s a love to which we must grow ; And these years have unsaid that word, dear, That I spoke to you long ago. There’s a lingering kiss on my lips, love— It has lain since yours touched mine ; There’s a love in my life that is yearning To cling to your heart as its shrine : Ah ! now you have taken that kiss love, And with it crushed out the past; I have waited long, long at the old gate — I have waited, but found you at last !