What profit if through months that stretch to years
No morning wakens without thought of you,
That never night steals gently on the blue
Without a haunting dread of lonely tears,
If, when the dawning steals across the grass,
The heart leaps up, "To-day he will return"?
Alas! poor lips that smile and cheeks that burn,
Knowing full well how soon the smile will pass.
What profit if through Pleasure's flying hours
The dull familiar pain is always there--
Youth's would-be gladness shadowed by a care,
And one sharp thorn amongst its fairest flowers,
If I remember through all, loving yet
Trusting, in silence, faithful overmuch,
Feeling some day again our lives may touch--
What profit me, oh! love, if you forget?
First published in The Queenslander, 12 March 1898
