Alone.

Alone.
359.3

I miss you, my darling, my darling
The embors burn low on the hearth.
And stilled is the stir of the household.
And hushed in the voice of ita mirth:
The rain plashes fast on the terrace,
The winds past the lattices moan,
The midnight chimes out from the minster
And I am alone.

I want you, my darling, my darling.
I am tired with care and with fret.
I would pestle in silence beside you,
And all but your presenos forget,
In the hush of the happiness given
To these who, through trusting. have grown
To the fullness of love in contentment,
But I am alone.

I call you my darling, my darlings
My voies echoes back on my heart.
I stretch my arms to you in longing.
And lot they fall empty apart.
I whisper the went Worn you caught me
The words that we only have known.
Till the blank of the dumb air in bitter-
For I am alone.

I need you, my darling, my darling.
With its yearning my very heart aches,
The lond that divides us weighs harder:
I shrink from the day that it makes.
Old sorrows rise up and beset me.
And doubts make my spirit their own.
Oh, came through the darkness and save me,
For I am alone.
-Frances.