Sometimes a Sigh wells upward from the deep,
by John William Inchbold
And glides into my presence like a ghost:
Unwelcome guest, what grain is here to reap,
Is not thy place for ever with the lost?
A slave, and conquered by a stronger will,
Have we again to wrestle with the past?
Say whence, and wherefore here, for good or ill?
'I come from pleasant lands, where dreams are cast,
And where regrets bear fruit, where memory
Gives life as sunshine, warm with ripening power;
And from this land, a slave, have brought to thee
Rich fruit to serve the melancholy hour:'—
And then he vanished, Love, and thou camest nigh,
A joyous presence that can never die.