Divided

The half-world’s width divides us; where she sits Noonday has broadened o’er the prairied West; For me, beneath an alien sky, unblest, The day dies and the bird of evening flits. Nor do I dream that in her happier breast Stirs thought of me. Untroubled beams the star, And recks not of the drifting mariner’s quest, Who, for dear life, may seek it on mid-sea. The half-world’s width divides us; yet, from far— And though I know that nearer may not be In all the years—yet, O beloved, to thee Goes out my heart, and, past the crimson bar Of Sunset, westward yearns away—away— And dieth towards thee with the dying day!