BUSH BALLADS AND RHYMES 



In the hot sun rising and setting 

 There is naught save feverish pain ; 



There are tears in the night-dews wetting — 

 Thou comest not back again. 



Thy voice in mine ear still mingles 



With the voices of whisp'ring trees, 

 Thy kiss on my cheek still tingles 



At each kiss of the summer breeze ; 

 While dreams of the past are thronging 



For substance of shades in vain, 

 I am waiting, watching, longing — 



Thou comest not back ag-ain. 



Waiting and watching ever, 



Longing and lingering yet, 

 Leaves rustle and corn-stalks quiver, 



Winds murmur and waters fret ; 

 No answer they bring, no greeting, 



No speech, save that sad refrain, 

 No voice, save an echo repeating — 



He cometh not back again. 



