Select Poetry.

Thames Star, Volume XV, Issue 4715, 16 February 1884, Page 1

Select Poetry.

AT EVENTIDE. (FROM ALIi THE TEAR BOUND.) Stretch out thine hand to me across the waste; Ah, dear lost friend, see how between ub rolls > An arid plain where wander weeping souls, That seek for all the shadows they have , chased, While sadly wandering, torn by dreads and fears, Amid the mazes of life's weary years. Stretch out thine hand, nor heed all that which lies Between my living form and thy dead heart. Help me to play alone my listless part, Wherein I see naught of those clear bright skies We watched together, standing hand in hand, To see the sunset deck the darkling land. That time' has come again. I stand alone. The hills no more make glad my waking Sight,' Save when between the darkness and the ' light I close mine eyes and think ; then each grey stone, Each gentle hollow, each fair light and shade Are mine, imprinted where time cannot .fade. Then why not come and sit beside the fire, Make thyself known ? I would npt ask for more; " , Would not c'en question of that darksome shore Where I have lost thee, nor would I aspire To gaze within tby eyes. Let me but clasp Thine hand in mine ! I could not fear thy grasp. Dear, thou art dead, yet wilt thou not return? ' I do not fear thee,ibrl know thou'rt dead. Canst thou not feel this ? Leave thy,quiet bed, And watch with me the drift-wood redly burn, Just as thou didst of old. 'Tis eventide, What keeps thee from thy friends fireside ? I will not question more; methiuks thou'rt here, Yearning to whisper of thy presence sweet. .. . • .':■■' y I will be still, perchance I'll hear, thy feet Pass at my threshold, or thy whisper near. I will be still, for death is dumb, is dumb! Thou canst not speak, so I will feel thee come ■ i as