Alone

The lonely cuckoo calls

With a long hollow sound among the rocks

Of sun-touched sandstone, and the echo falls

Between the straight red pines to me, and knocks

Upon my heart again and yet again.

It thrills me

With some mysterious mingled joy and pain

That slumbers in the echoing refrain

And stills me.

If only you were here,

We'd go together through the buckler-fern

And watch the nuthatch climbing to his dear;

Then--so that you might follow--I would turn,

And, smiling, mount the steep, and leaning so

Above you,

Await your laughing kiss with eyes a-glow.

Ah! foolish dream--you do not even know

I love you.