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Category: Poems of Love Lost


I am tired to-night, and something,
    The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
    Has brought back the past and its pain.
And I feel, as I sit here thinking,
    That the hand of a dead old June
Has reached out hold of my heart's loose strings,
    And is drawing them up in tune.

I am tired to-night, and I miss you,
    And long for you, love, through tears;
And it seems but to-day that I saw you go--
    You, who have been gone for years.
And I seem to be newly lonely--
    I, who am so much alone;
And the strings of my heart are well in tune,
    But they have not the same old tone.

I am tired; and that old sorrow
    Sweeps down the bed of my soul,
As a turbulent river might sudden'y break
    way from a dam's control.
It beareth a wreck on its bosom,
    A wreck with a snow-white sail;
And the hand on my heart strings thrums away,
    But they only respond with a wail.

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