Poem

How fares the child whom sire forgot,
whose veins run cold from lying bare
against the wind, his bitter lot
resigned 'mid strangers to despair?

For I can't now conjure in mind
the sweetness of our early days.
Tonight, when even stars are blind,
my pain and tears their only grace.

Where are you, angel? Dearest friend!--
can parting be so final now?
For years I've loved. My eye and hand
forget the sight, the feeling? How?

And even mem'ry shall betray
amid adopted company;
to think I'll never tread the way
returning all so dear to me!

How fares the heart thus turned adrift,
bereft of familiarity?
Not knowing when the darkness lifts,
both past and future lost to me.