AT DUSK, like flowers that shun the day, <br />Shy thoughts from dim recesses break, <br />And plead for words I dare not say <br />For your sweet sake. <br /> <br />My early love! my first, my last! <br />Mistakes have been that both must rue; <br />But all the passion of the past <br />Survives for you. <br /> <br />The tender message Hope might send <br />Sinks fainting at the lips of speech, <br />For, are you lover—are you friend, <br />That I would reach? <br /> <br />How much to-night I’d give to win <br />A banished peace—an old repose; <br />But here I sit, and sigh, and sin <br />When no one knows. <br /> <br />The stern, the steadfast reticence, <br />Which made the dearest phrases halt, <br />And checked a first and finest sense, <br />Was not my fault. <br /> <br />I held my words because there grew <br />About my life persistent pride; <br />And you were loved, who never knew <br />What love could hide! <br /> <br />This purpose filled my soul like flame: <br />To win you wealth and take the place <br />Where care is not, nor any shame <br />To vex your face. <br /> <br />I said “Till then my heart must keep <br />Its secrets safe and unconfest;” <br />And days and nights unknown to sleep <br />The vow attest. <br /> <br />Yet, oh! my sweet, it seems so long <br />Since you were near; and fates retard <br />The sequel of a struggle strong, <br />And life is hard— <br /> <br />Too hard, when one is left alone <br />To wrestle passion, never free <br />To turn and say to you, “My own, <br />Come home to me!”<br /><br />Henry Kendall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-dusk-3/
