Poems (Chitwood)/I know not Where Thou Art

"I KNOW NOT WHERE THOU ART."

I know not where thou art,—
Day follows weary day,
Melting the fragrance from my heart
In bitterness away.
I hear the tones I heard
In other days, and yet
I list in vain for one dear word:
And can'st thou, too, forget?

I know not where thou art,—
I seek thee like a dove,
And yet my weary, bleeding heart
Finds no sweet ark of love.
I roam o'er mountains blue,
And o'er the moaning sea,
In spirit saying, "Art thou true?"
No answer comes to me.

I ask the breeze that shakes
The alders o'er the rill,
If it hath met thee, but it makes
A sadder music still.
I ask the birds that fly
On white wings from the west,
They pause not for my tearful eye,
They bring no waif of rest.

I know not where thou art,—
It may be thou art dead,
That western flowers with dewy heart
Drop tears upon thy head;
And yet, if it were so,
Thy soul would give to me
Some sweet, fond word, that I might know,
If I was dear to thee.

And thus life passes on;
The world no more is bright—
The evening stars, the early dawn
Seem only sable night.
I know not where thou art;
And, weary day-by-day
Crushes life's blossoms from my heart,
A withered mass, away.