 | A Child of the People |  |
147
WAITING.
What mellowing maid shall Time make wife to me?
I do not think we know each other yet,
Or, may-be, on one pavement once we met,
Touched, passed; I thought not of the bond to be.
Stirred in her soul strange prescience,—This is he
Whose hand on mine the marriage-ring shall set?
Did she look back, feeling the sudden fret
O' the soul upon its walls of mystery?
I do not think we know each other yet,
Or, may-be, on one pavement once we met,
Touched, passed; I thought not of the bond to be.
Stirred in her soul strange prescience,—This is he
Whose hand on mine the marriage-ring shall set?
Did she look back, feeling the sudden fret
O' the soul upon its walls of mystery?
O destined bride I dream of half the day,
Do you dream of the destined bridegroom too?
Then our dreams meet in dreamland's dawnless grey,
And straight grow one as here our hearts shall do.
Whirl swiftly, Time, her single hours away,
For I shall soon be over-old to woo!
Do you dream of the destined bridegroom too?
Then our dreams meet in dreamland's dawnless grey,
And straight grow one as here our hearts shall do.
Whirl swiftly, Time, her single hours away,
For I shall soon be over-old to woo!
| A Child of the People | |