To my absent daughter, Ella.
Think of me, darling ! My poor heart seems breaking,
Saddened and crushed, by thy constant forsaking.
Never an hour but thy face is before me,
Never a day but I bend fondly o'er thee,
Never a night but my arms steal about thee,
While my heart cries, 'Must I still live without thee?'
Nothing I listen to, nothing I see,
Stills, for one moment, my longings for thee.
Think of me, pet, and if thou, too, dost miss me,
Hold up thy lips, as if waiting to kiss me.
Let the good angels above us discover,
Mamma, though distant, has some one to love her.
Bid them to waft me thy kiss as a token
That the tie binding us ne'er can be broken ;
E'en as the oak wooes the upreaching vine,
Yearneth my heart Jto be circled by thine.
Think of me, sweet ! When the sun's golden quiver
Loosens the bands of our beautiful river,
Bend thy red lips where its wavelets are kneeling,―
Freight them with whispers of tenderest feeling,―
Let the clear waters, as thou leanest over,
Clasp thy dear image and bear me, thy lover,
Something to cheer me, ―a shadow or sign―
Something to prove thee my own Valentine.
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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- WH Auden