Anonymous

IF I could hold your hands to-night,

Just for a little while, and know

That only I, of all the world,

Possessed them so.

A slender shape in that old chair,

If I could see you here to-night,

Between me and the twilight pale—

So light and frail.

Your cool white dress, its folding lost

In one broad sweep of shadow grey;

Your weary head just drooped aside,

That sweet old way.

Bowed like a flower-cup dashed with rain,

The darkness crossing half your face,

And just the glimmer of a smile

For one to trace.

If I could see your eyes that reach

Far out into the farthest sky,

Where past the trail of dying suns

The old years lie.

Or touch your silent lips to-night,

And steal the sadness from their smile,

And find the last kiss they have kept

This weary while!

If it could be—Oh, all in vain

The restless trouble of my soul

Sets, as the great tides of the moon,

Toward your control!

In vain the longings of the lips,

The eye’s desire and the pain;

The hunger of the heart—O love,

Is it in vain?