At Dusk

At dusk, like flowers that shun the day,     Shy thoughts from dim recesses break,     And plead for words I dare not say     For your sweet sake.     My early love! my first, my last!     Mistakes have been that both must rue;     But all the passion of the past     Survives for you.     The tender message Hope might send     Sinks fainting at the lips of speech,     For, are you lover are you friend,     That I would reach?     How much to-night Id give to win     A banished peace an old repose;     But here I sit, and sigh, and sin     When no one knows.     The stern, the steadfast reticence,     Which made the dearest phrases halt,     And checked a first and finest sense,     Was not my fault.     I held my words because there grew     About my life persistent pride;     And you were loved, who never knew     What love could hide!     This purpose filled my soul like flame:     To win you wealth and take the place     Where care is not, nor any shame     To vex your face.     I said Till then my heart must keep     Its secrets safe and unconfest;     And days and nights unknown to sleep     The vow attest.     Yet, oh! my sweet, it seems so long     Since you were near; and fates retard     The sequel of a struggle strong,     And life is hard     Too hard, when one is left alone     To wrestle passion, never free     To turn and say to you, My own,     Come home to me!