There He Waits for Her Return

He closes his eyes now and then
in hopes to see her face again,
that maiden in his every dream
with eyes than glisten, hair that gleams.
What, a whisper, doth he hear?
Is mine maiden drawing near?
Leaping up from where he lay
he sees her naught, no, not today.
He hangs his head, agrieved, forlorn--
perhaps I'll see her in the morn,
or when the eve has fallen lo--
that maiden yet as white as snow.
Nay, still do I expect it not;
those fiends-- they left her there to rot!
I am left to wait for her,
of her return I'm yet unsure!
But still I'll wait, he says, I will!
I shall wait her arrival still
and hold her to my bosom when
she and I do meet again,
no matter it be years or years
in my heart I feel her near!
Is she coming? I'll not know
until I see her, white as snow!
But if I sit until I die,
Not a tear e'er shall I cry,
for in my heart I knowest she
would never love a grievéd me!
And lo, he doth sitteth there,
even now, he waiteth there,
until he meets her once again
Only then, yes, only then.


-D.B.