I trust the happy hour will come,
That shall to peace thy breast restore;
And that we two, beloved friend,
Shall one day meet to part no more.
It grieves me most, that parting thus,
All my soul feels I dare not speak;
And when I turn me from thy sight,
The tears in silence wet my cheek.
Yet I look forward to the time,
That shall each wound of sorrow heal;
When I may press thee to my heart,
And tell thee all that now I feel.
More verses by William Lisle Bowles
- Summer Evening At Home
- Sun-Dial, In The Churchyard Of Bremhill
- Picture Of A Young Lady
- Sketch From Bowden Hill After Sickness
- On The Busts Of Milton, In Youth And Age, At Stourhead