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These tears I shed on the flowers
Of all that is doomed to be ours:
Now of ruins, the world I saw in you,
The only paradise that ever I knew,
Is a story of the candle you were
In the darkness—that held my prayer.
I was young, but never free to dwell
In this world that I must bid farewell,
Though I long to hear you say
That we will meet there someday.
And never will this sky be as clear,
Never a sweeter note shall I hear
Than celestial chords in what I imagine
Was the Heaven this land once had been.
O! There, all my summers in you were born.
Ah! these winters I have come to mourn.
I do not want you to dwindle into shade
Though our horizons alas! now fade
Into the hour that falls from my eyes
As the candle dies
And I long to hear you say,
We shall meet again someday.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle