| |
| A FLASH of steam, a dash of light | |
| Through the black centre of the night, | |
| With shriek and whirlwind goes the train | |
| Across the slopes of sweet Touraine. | |
| |
| And o’er fair Europe’s shadowy face | 5 |
| A hundred more their errand trace, | |
| And night surveys them, calm and free, | |
| To her as little as to me. | |
| |
| But from that one of all that roll, | |
| A vision lightens on the soul, | 10 |
| Where love is on her way to bring | |
| Love’s sweetness to the sorrowing. | |
| |
| Through year-long hours of hope and woe | |
| She sits and waits, till dawning show | |
| The stately terraces that crown | 15 |
| The level waves of broad Garonne. | |
| |
| Her heart is gone before her there, | |
| And sees the room and empty chair, | |
| And one who on the death-bed lies, | |
| And prays to see her ere she dies. | 20 |
| |
| O Love, that sits so white and still! | |
| I think and think upon her, till | |
| My heart is with her heart again, | |
| Crossing the slopes of sweet Touraine. | |
| |
