The train draws forth from the station-yard,

   And with it carries me.

I rise, and stretch out, and regard

   The platform left, and see

An airy slim blue form there standing,

   And know that it is she.

While with strained vision I watch on,

   The figure turns round quite

To greet friends gaily; then is gone . . .

   The import may be slight,

But why remained she not hard gazing

   Till I was out of sight?

“O do not chat with others there,”

   I brood.  “They are not I.

O strain your thoughts as if they were

   Gold bands between us; eye

All neighbour scenes as so much blankness

   Till I again am by!

“A troubled soughing in the breeze

   And the sky overhead

Let yourself feel; and shadeful trees,

   Ripe corn, and apples red,

Read as things barren and distasteful

   While we are separated!

“When I come back uncloak your gloom,

   And let in lovely day;

Then the long dark as of the tomb

   Can well be thrust away

With sweet things I shall have to practise,

   And you will have to say!”

Begun 1871: finished—