PARTED.

Once more my hand will clasp your hand; Your loved voice I shall hear once more; But we shall never see the land, The pleasant land we knew of yore; Never, on any summer day, Hear the low music of its streams, Or wander down the leafy way That leadeth to the land of dreams. Still, borne upon the scented air, The songs of birds rise clear and sweet, As when I gathered roses there, And heaped their glories at your feet; And still the golden pathway lies At eve across the western sea, And lovers dream beneath those skies, Which shine no more for you and me. No more, ah, nevermore! and yet They seem so near, those summer days, When Hope was like a jewel set To shine adown Time’s misty ways; I sometimes dream that morning’s light Will bring them back to us once more, And that ’tis but one long dark night Since we two parted by the shore. We parted with soft words and low, And ‘Farewell till to-morrow,’ said; From sea and sky, the sunset’s glow A golden halo round you shed; Then as you went, I heard you sing, ‘Haste thee, sweet morrow:’ parting thus, How could we dream that life would bring Not any morrow there for us? We parted, and that last farewell Its shadow on our life-path cast; And Time’s relentless barriers fell Between us and our happy past; And now we meet when cares and tears Have dulled the parting and the pain, But never can the weary years Bring back our golden dreams again. D. J. Robertson.