Expectation.

A poem by John Milton Hay

Roll on, O shining sun,
To the far seas!
Bring down, ye shades of eve,
The soft, salt breeze!
Shine out, O stars, and light
My darling's pathway bright,
As through the summer night
She comes to me.

No beam of any star
Can match her eyes;
Her smile the bursting day
In light outvies.
Her voice - the sweetest thing
Heard by the raptured spring
When waking wild-woods ring -
She comes to me.

Ye stars, more swiftly wheel
O'er earth's still breast;
More wildly plunge and reel
In the dim west!
The earth is lone and lorn,
Till the glad day be born,
Till with the happy morn
She comes to me.

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