Evelyn G. Of Christminster

I can see the towers     In mind quite clear     Not many hours'     Faring from here;     But how up and go,     And briskly bear     Thither, and know     That are not there?     Though the birds sing small,     And apple and pear     On your trees by the wall     Are ripe and rare,     Though none excel them,     I have no care     To taste them or smell them     And you not there.     Though the College stones     Are smit with the sun,     And the graduates and Dons     Who held you as one     Of brightest brow     Still think as they did,     Why haunt with them now     Your candle is hid?     Towards the river     A pealing swells:     They cost me a quiver -     Those prayerful bells!     How go to God,     Who can reprove     With so heavy a rod     As your swift remove!     The chorded keys     Wait all in a row,     And the bellows wheeze     As long ago.     And the psalter lingers,     And organist's chair;     But where are your fingers     That once wagged there?     Shall I then seek     That desert place     This or next week,     And those tracks trace     That fill me with cark     And cloy; nowhere     Being movement or mark     Of you now there!