POETRY.
TO THE DISTANT ONE.
Theo' wild byways I come to you, my love, Nor ask of those I meet the surest way: What way I turn I cannot go astray And miss you in my life. Tho' fate may prove A tardy guide, she will not make delay, Leading me thro' strange seas and distant lands. I'm coming still, tho' slowly, to your hands, We'll meet one day.
There is so much to do, so little done In my life's space that I perforce did leave Love at the moonlit trysting place to grieve Till fame and other little things were won. Much have I lost that I shall not retrieve, Far shall I wander yet with much to do, Much I shall spurn before I yet meet you, So fair I can't deceive.
Your name is in the whisper of the woods
Like Beauty calling for a Poet's song
To one whose harp has suffered many a wrong In the lean hands of Pain. But when the broods Of flower eyes waken all the streams along, In tender whiles, I feel most near to you.
0 when we meet there shall be sun and blue, Strong as the spring is strong.
F. Lummox (Lance-Corporal).
Previous page
