Young Susan was a likely lass;
I knew her well and long;
A modest girl and good she was,
Or else my guess was wrong.
I went and came, I came and went,
As rivers ebb and flow:
Whene'er I came I felt content,
Nor less when forced to go.

Anon, without my choice or voice,
Things took another turn;
The Coming bade my heart rejoice,
The Going made it mourn:
I had no hope, no home, no goal,
Save Sue, and Sue alone,
My mind and thoughts, my heart and soul
Were her's, and not mine own.

Then deaf I grew, and dumb, and dull,
I saw nor bloom nor flower,
For nought was bright or beautiful
Unless in Susan's bower;
Sun, stars, or moon, by night or noon,
I could not find or mind—
I only gazed on Sue, and soon
I gazed my peepers blind.

When lo! a different season came,
And I was changed anew.
Though Susan still remained the same,
As fair, as good, as true,
I went and came, I came and went,
As rivers ebb and flow,
But always came with less content,
And went, well pleased to go.

Ye sages grave, you understand
Why many a youth and miss
Join heart and hand in Wedlock's band,
And woo, and coo, and kiss:
Ye thinkers, then, ye learned men,
I pray you tell me free,
The How and Where, the Why and When
Things went so odd with me.

I've thought, myself, both morn and night,
Both night and morn I've thought;
I've thought, and sought, and prayed for light,
But I've discovered nought;
So Love, you mind, is like the wind—
You feel it while it blows—
But whence it comes you cannot find,
Nor follow where it goes.

Swiftly walk over the western wave,
              Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
             Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
             Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand—
             Come, long sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn,
             I sigh'd for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
             I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
             Wouldst thou me?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noon-tide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?—And I replied,
             No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,
             Soon, too soon—
Sleep will come when thou art fled;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night—
Swift be thine approaching flight,
             Come soon, soon!