Part 4 (1/2)

And when, with weariness oppressed, I sink in spite of you to rest, Your image, like a lovely sprite, Haunts me in dreams through half the night.

I wake upon the autumn morn To find the sunrise hardly born, And in the sky a soft pale blue, And in my heart your image true.

When out I walk to take the air, Your image is for ever there, Among the woods that lose their leaves, Or where the North Sea sadly heaves.

By what enchantment shall be laid This ghost, which does not make afraid, But vexes with dim loveliness And many a shadowy caress?

There is no other way I know But unto you forthwith to go, That I may look upon the maid Whereof that other is the shade.

As the strong sun puts out the moon, Whose borrowed rays are all his own, So, in your living presence, dies The phantom kindled at your eyes.

By this most blessed spell, each day The vexing ghost awhile I lay.

Yet am I glad to know that when I leave you it will rise again.

COME BACK TO ST. ANDREWS

Come back to St. Andrews! Before you went away You said you would be wretched where you could not see the Bay, The East sands and the West sands and the castle in the sea Come back to St. Andrews--St. Andrews and me.

Oh, it's dreary along South Street when the rain is coming down, And the east wind makes the student draw more close his warm red gown, As I often saw you do, when I watched you going by On the stormy days to College, from my window up on high.

I wander on the Lade Braes, where I used to walk with you, And purple are the woods of Mount Melville, budding new, But I cannot bear to look, for the tears keep coming so, And the Spring has lost the freshness which it had a year ago.

Yet often I could fancy, where the pathway takes a turn, I shall see you in a moment, coming round beside the burn, Coming round beside the burn, with your swinging step and free, And your face lit up with pleasure at the sudden sight of me.

Beyond the Rock and Spindle, where we watched the water clear In the happy April suns.h.i.+ne, with a happy sound to hear, There I sat this afternoon, but no hand was holding mine, And the water sounded eerie, though the April sun did s.h.i.+ne.

Oh, why should I complain of what I know was bound to be?

For you had your way to make, and you must not think of me.

But a woman's heart is weak, and a woman's joys are few-- There are times when I could die for a moment's sight of you.

It may be you will come again, before my hair is grey As the sea is in the twilight of a weary winter's day.

When success is grown a burden, and your heart would fain be free, Come back to St. Andrews--St. Andrews and me.

THE SOLITARY

I have been lonely all my days on earth, Living a life within my secret soul, With mine own springs of sorrow and of mirth, Beyond the world's control.

Though sometimes with vain longing I have sought To walk the paths where other mortals tread, To wear the clothes for other mortals wrought, And eat the selfsame bread--