What brought it back to me?
I thought that it had fled;
Again I sit with thee
And watch the twilight red.

Far out upon the deep
The full moon's light is thrown.
This night thou must not sleep;
Stay near me, O, my own!

How hard for me to know
That this must be the last;
That duty's wave must flow
O'er all the sacred past.

Dear heart, what walls that rise
Can bar out memory's view,
Or hush the poor heart's sighs
You'll know are breathed for you?

So fair the moon will rise
To other eyes than ours,
That weep while bitter sighs
Stay not the winged hours.

Upon the radiant sight,
From out the thronged halls,
Like requiem to-night,
The entrancing music falls.

At last the daylight makes
With rising shafts of gold,
Each heart in parting breaks,
And duty's wage is told.

Other 19th-century Mormon poetry