Yes, I was sad and anxious,
But now, dear, I am gay;
I know that it is wisest
To put all hope away:-
Thank God that I have done so
And can be calm to-day.
For hope deferred--you know it,
Once made my heart so sick:
Now, I expect no longer;
It is but the old trick
Of hope, that makes me tremble,
And makes my heart beat quick.
All day I sit here calmly;
Not as I did before,
Watching for one whose footstep
Comes never, never more . . .
Hush! was that someone passing,
Who paused beside the door?
For years I hung on chances,
Longing for just one word;
At last I feel it:- silence
Will never more be stirred . . .
Tell me once more that rumour,
You fancied you had heard.
Life has more things to dwell on
Than just one useless pain,
Useless and past for ever;
But noble things remain,
And wait us all: . . . you too, dear,
Do you think hope quite vain?
All others have forgotten,
'Tis right I should forget,
Nor live on a keen longing
Which shadows forth regret: . . .
Are not the letters coming?
The sun is almost set.
Now that my restless legion
Of hopes and fears is fled,
Reading is joy and comfort . . .
. . .This very day I read,
Oh, such a strange returning
Of one whom all thought dead!
Not that _I_ dream or fancy,
You know all that is past;
Earth has no hope to give me,
And yet:- Time flies so fast
That all but the impossible
Might be brought back at last.
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