Alice Cary

April 26, 1820 - 1871


To The Evening Zephyr

by Alice Cary

I sit where the wild bee is humming,
And listen in vain for your song;
I've waited before for your coming,
But never, oh! never so long.

How oft, with the blue sky above us,
And waves breaking light on the shore,
You, knowing they would not reprove us,
Have kissed me a thousand times o'er!

So sweet were your dewy embraces,
Your falsehood, oh! who could believe!
Some phantom your fondness effaces --
You could not have aimed to deceive.

You told not your love for me ever,
But all the bright stars in the skies,
Though striving to do so could never,
Have numbered one half of your sighs.

Alone in the gathering shadows,
Still waiting, sweet Zephyr, for you,
I look for the waves of the meadows,
And the phantoms that trail o'er the blue

The blossoms that waited to greet me
With heat of the noontide opprest,
Now flutter so lightly to meet me,
You're coming, I know, from the West.

Alas! if you find me thus pouting,
'T is only my love that alarms;
Forgive, then, I pray you, my doubting,
And take me once more to your arms!


Copyright 1855
Boston: Ticknor And Fields