TRYSTING-TIME
Reading edition
’Tis only when the wooing west Has drawn the tired sun to her breast, I seek my darling’s place of rest. In twilight-time we used to meet— Ah me, how lag our listless feet When we have but a grave to greet! And yet, this daisy-dappled grave So like a soft white-crested wave Is all beneath the skies I have. On broken wings the years have flown, Oh love, since in the long agone I left you sleeping here alone!