And the panes no light;—
Oh, if I came not again,
Would you miss me much?
Would your fingers once be fain
Of my wandering touch?
Would you dream me at your side
In the waking wood,
Where the old spring hungers hide
In blue solitude?
Would you wonder where I passed,
Into joy or pain?
Oh, to know you cared, at last,
Came I not again!
Oh, if I came not again,
Would you miss me much?
Would your fingers once be fain
Of my wandering touch?
Would you dream me at your side
In the waking wood,
Where the old spring hungers hide
In blue solitude?
Would you wonder where I passed,
Into joy or pain?
Oh, to know you cared, at last,
Came I not again!