Separation.
When from thy home, dear love, I’m sadly riding,1
Half of my thoughts remain with thee abiding—2
The lesser half alone I take with me :3
And, all indignant, chiding4
That they are not with thee.5
At every step, they say, impatient pleading,6
A messenger to thee must soon be speeding ;7
And each would fain as messenger be gone :8
Then, no refusal heeding,9
They fly away alone.10
To thee they flutter, love their flight impelling,11
With thee they stay, their little love-tale telling ;12
And leave this empty bulk of thought bereft,13
A lone, abandoned dwelling,14
Not even a fancy left.15