The Traveller

Dark are Lucinda's eyes;

And when they grow

Blacker than pointed cypress trees

Against the blue of windy seas,

'Tis then I know

I must disturb her not, for she

Is many miles away from me,

'Neath unfamiliar skies.

Brooding her eyes and wide

With all they see,

And it is strange to watch and know

She's back a century or so

In a vanished Italy,

Or pagan Greece, or golden Rome,

Or anywhere except at home

And sitting at my side.