Waiting

John Boyle O'Reilly 1844 (Dowth) – 1890 (Boston)

HE is coming! he is coming! in my throbbing breast I feel it;
There is music in my blood, and it whispers all day long,
That my love unknown comes toward me! Ah, my heart, he need not steal it,'
For I cannot hide the secret that it murmurs in its song!

O the sweet bursting flowers! how they open, never blushing,
Laying bare their fragrant bosoms to the kisses of the sun!
And the birds—I thought 'twas poets only read their tender gushing,
But I hear their pleading stories, and I know them every one.

'He is coming!' says my heart; I may raise my eyes and greet him;
I may meet him any moment—shall I know him when I see?
And my heart laughs back the answer—I can tell him when I meet him,
For our eyes will kiss and mingle ere he speaks a word to me.

O, I'm longing for his coming—in the dark my arms outreaching;
To hasten you, my love, see, I lay my bosom bare!
Ah, the night-wind! I shudder, and my hands are raised beseeching—
It wailed so light a death-sigh that passed me in the air!

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

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John Boyle O'Reilly

John Boyle O'Reilly was an Irish-born poet, journalist and fiction writer. more…

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    "Waiting" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 17 Jan. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/22104/waiting>.

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