“And all the fix'd delights of house and home—
Friendship that cannot break, and love that will not roam.”
I will not say, I fear your absent one
Will be forgotten; but you cannot feel
The darkening thoughts that o'er my spirits steal,
When I remember I am quite alone—
That all I lov'd most fondly, all are gone.
To you that deepest sorrow is unknown:
Some very dear ones are beside you now;
But cold is here each smile that meets my own;
It does not lighten o'er some long lov'd brow.
‘Tis vain to tell me soon again we meet—
That thought but makes the weary hours depart
More slowly: hope is sickness to the heart
When we so oft its accents must repeat.
Affection is, in absence, as the flower
Transplanted from the soil which gave it birth—
Dew has no freshness, sunshine has no power;
Drooping, it pines for its lov'd native earth.