EXPECTATION. 



Throughout the lonely house the whole day long 

 The wind-harp's fitful music sinks and swells, — 



A cry of pain, sometimes, or sad and strong, 

 Or faint, like broken peals of silver bells. 



Across the little garden comes the breeze. 

 Bows all its cups of flame, and brings to me 



Its breath of mignonette and bright sweet peas. 

 With drowsy murmurs from the encircling sea. 



In at the open door a crimson drift 



Of fluttering, fading woodbine leaves is blown. 

 And through the clambering vine the sunbeams sift, 



And trembling shadows on the floor are thrown. 



I climb the stair, and from the window lean, 

 Seeking thy sail, O love, that still delays ; 



Longing to catch its glimmer, searching keen 

 The jealous distance veiled in tender haze. 



