The Ferry

DRAW close the curtains, and shut out The spring's green glow and glitter; The resurrection-life of spring To me brings no fresh blossoming; I'm wearied of the flowers about-- The London sparrows' twitter. If I could dream--if I could see Once more the slow smooth river, The narrow path she used to tread, The sunlight on her little head, The white fire of the hawthorn tree-- But I shall see them never. Only the boat in dreams I steer Among the tufted rushes, I see her white gown through the grass, That thrills with love to feel her pass; Only in dreams again I hear Those unforgotten thrushes. Sometimes in dreams I see her stand, Her hand held out, and making The sweet unreal so vivid seem, I only know it is a dream When I reach out to take her hand, And find no hand for taking. So once she stood; and I--too weak To dare to say, 'I love her'-- I dropped her hand, and took the oar And rowed her to the farther shore; I had my chance, and did not speak, And chances now are over. How dark the room has grown!--yet no, The sky is blue above me; This is the boat--the hawthorn tree Is showering blossoms down on me; And she is here as long ago, And she has learned to love me!