Мария Джейн Джюсбери (Maria Jane Jewsbury)

To an Absent One

Oh! 'tis the curse of absence, that our love
Becomes too sad, too tender, too profound,
For all our far off friends.

                                                 Wilson.

SUMMER is with us in its pomp and power,
Placing the green crown on the forest trees,
And woodland music, like a gushing shower
Mingled with flower-scents, floats upon the breeze;
Summer is with us brightening every brow,
And thrilling every heart, but where art thou?
Thou being formed of love, and song, and smiles,
Linked by thy genius to the stars of heaven,
Yet linked again by woman's gentle wiles,
To lowlier blessings that to earth are given;
The tremulous blossom, the sweet-laden bee,
And the lone stream let they too emblem thee.
Thou shouldst be with us when the sun descending
Walks to his rest along a path of gold,
When o'er the hills triumphantly are blending
Colours that mock the Tyrian dyes of old;
Thou shouldst be with us when the dews of morn
String their bright pearls upon the slender corn:

With us at noontide in some grassy lair,
Hid in its green depths, like a folded flower,
The rustic meal with merry heart to share,
Far from the grave restraints of courtlier bower;
With us to wake the smile and prompt the song,
Wing the sad hour, the pleasant one prolong,
Come to us bright one sunbeam of the heart!
There rests a shadow on our souls till then;
But come, and fresh flowers in our path will start,
And joyous greetings ring through grove and glen:
Come back and listen to affection's vow,
And the glad household-welcome "Here art thou!"

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