Joan Mellish

WHERE art thou now, Joan Mellish?
Spring with its smiles slips past;
The great red rose in the convent close
Crimsons and glows at last;
And with the time of roses
Old hopes new life assume:
Where art thou, then, Joan Mellish?
Shall naught thine eyes relume?

Thy step was free and stately
As the step of the mountain fawn ;
Thy cheek’s faint flush like the rosy blush
In the first sweet hush of dawn;
And oh, thy heart, Joan Mellish,
Was just the truest heart
That ever the dear God sent below
To bear an earthly part.

I seek for thee, Joan Mellish,
At morn, at noon, at eve;
I turn and turn, and pant and burn,
I strive and yearn and grieve;
But not for sigh or whisper,
For passionate sob or cry,
Dost thou come back, my love, my life!
And still the years go by.

Thou wilt not come, Joan Mellish,
Thy feet the earth-dust holds ;
Where strangers pass the long grave-grass
Thy couch, alas, enfolds.
And I, thine earthly lover, —
Ah me, how far am I
From that dark home of thine below,
From thy bright home on high!

Ah me, the bitter parting
Of love that is not hope!
Farewell for aye, dear heart! Astray
In doubt’s dark way I grope;
My eyes are dim with seeking
The face they cannot see.
Farewell, farewell, Joan Mellish,
A long farewell to thee!