Gone For a Week
Ah, you are not here, my diamond darling,
My ever shooting, radiant star,
My rose-petaled sun,
My swaying, dancing song,
My ship come into shore,
My many pounds of gold,
My one unique flower,
My highest hill,
My hands' joy,
My soul.
Ah, you are not here,
And the new year seems so far,
So cere, so still, so very cold.
Oh, but the light of you lingers,
And the minutes run on up to you,
And I am ready now to leap,
But the hours creep,
Am ready to fly,
But can only sigh,
Could sing,
But cannot sing.
Your name is on my lips,
Waiting your breath
To burn it to a burning brand,
And the storming of your hands
Is in my hands.
Ah! You are not here!
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