The Lonesome Pilgrim

ow like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings fave I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

I see her coming, and begin to glow
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with my bonnet hide my asking brow,
Look on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askance I hold her in my eye.
My tend'rer cheek receives her soft hand's print
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injourous distance should not stop my way;
For then, despite of space, I would be brought
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then, although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee,
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.

But ah! thought kills me that I am not thought
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that, so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leisure with my moan,
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
The other tow, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
The present-absent with swift motion slide.