 | The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter |  |
251
IN A WOOD
Hush, 'tis thy voice!
No, but a bird upon the bough
Romancing to its mate, but where art thou
To bid my heart rejoice?
No, but a bird upon the bough
Romancing to its mate, but where art thou
To bid my heart rejoice?
'Tis thy hand, speak!
No, but the branches striking in the wind
Let loose a withered leaf that falls behind,
Blown to my cheek.
No, but the branches striking in the wind
Let loose a withered leaf that falls behind,
Blown to my cheek.
Hush, thy footfall!
No, 'tis a streamlet hidden in the fern.
Thus from dawn to dark I wait, I learn
Sorrow is all.
No, 'tis a streamlet hidden in the fern.
Thus from dawn to dark I wait, I learn
Sorrow is all.
| The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter | |