Verse > Anthologies > Hunt and Lee, eds. > The Book of the Sonnet
Hunt and Lee, comps.  The Book of the Sonnet.  1867.
VIII. The Same
By Park Benjamin (1809–1864)
WHEN those we love are absent—far away,
  When those we love have met some hapless fate,
How pours the heart its lone and plaintive lay,
  As the wood-songster mourns her stolen mate!
Alas! the summer bower—how desolate!        5
  The winter hearth—how dim its fire appears!
  While the pale memories of by-gone years
Around our thoughts like spectral shadows wait.
  How changed the picture! here, they all are parted
  To meet no more,—the true, the gentle-hearted!        10
  The old have journeyed to their bourne; the young
  Wander, if living, distant lands among;
  And now we rest our dearest hopes above;
  For heavenly joy alone can match domestic love!

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