Lonely
By George Sterling
I saw but now a wild-dove and his mate
Pass down the river on the morning blue;
Above the willow's emerald they flew,
Bondless and swift, untroubled and elate.
Happy, I thought, happy their feathered fate,
For they had sipped the dawn's elysian dew
And found them autumn's tawny seeds a few
While as for me, I starve, I grieve, I wait!
And thou, O Far One, in thy stony nest,
Thou too art lonely, gazing to the West.
O thou mine exquisite and tender dove,
Follow me, follow, for my hunger grows,
And I would gaze again upon thy snows,
Lost heavenward in a semi-swoon of love.
Written en route.