 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
88
COMING HOME
When the winter winds were loud,
And Earth wore a snowy shroud,
Oft our darling wrote to us,
And the words ran ever thus—
“I am coming in the spring!
With the mayflower's blossoming,
With the young leaves on the tree,
O my dear ones, look for me!”
And Earth wore a snowy shroud,
Oft our darling wrote to us,
And the words ran ever thus—
“I am coming in the spring!
With the mayflower's blossoming,
With the young leaves on the tree,
O my dear ones, look for me!”
And she came. One dreary day,
When the skies were dull and gray,
Softly through the open door
Our belovèd came once more.
Came with folded hands that lay
Very quietly alway—
Came with heavy-lidded eyes,
Lifted not in glad surprise.
When the skies were dull and gray,
Softly through the open door
Our belovèd came once more.
Came with folded hands that lay
Very quietly alway—
Came with heavy-lidded eyes,
Lifted not in glad surprise.
Not a single word she spoke;
Laugh nor sigh her silence broke
As across the quiet room,
Darkening in the twilight gloom,
On she passed in stillest guise,
Calm as saint in Paradise,
To the spot where—woe betide!—
Four years since she stood a bride.
Laugh nor sigh her silence broke
As across the quiet room,
Darkening in the twilight gloom,
On she passed in stillest guise,
Calm as saint in Paradise,
To the spot where—woe betide!—
Four years since she stood a bride.
89
Then, you think, we sprang to greet her—
Sprang with outstretched hands, to meet her;
Clasped her in our arms once more,
As in happy days of yore;
Poured warm kisses on her cheek,
Passive lips and forehead meek,
Till the barrier melted down
That had thus between us grown.
Sprang with outstretched hands, to meet her;
Clasped her in our arms once more,
As in happy days of yore;
Poured warm kisses on her cheek,
Passive lips and forehead meek,
Till the barrier melted down
That had thus between us grown.
Ah no!—Darling, did you know
When we bent above you so?
When our tears fell down like rain,
And our hearts were wild with pain?
Did you pity us that day,
Even as holy angels may
Pity mortals here below,
While they wonder at their woe?
When we bent above you so?
When our tears fell down like rain,
And our hearts were wild with pain?
Did you pity us that day,
Even as holy angels may
Pity mortals here below,
While they wonder at their woe?
Who can tell us? Word nor sign
Came from those pale lips of thine;
Loving hearts and yearning breast
Lay in coldest, calmest rest.
Is thy Heaven so very fair
That thou dost forget us there?
Speak, belovèd! Woe is me
That in vain I call on thee!
Came from those pale lips of thine;
Loving hearts and yearning breast
Lay in coldest, calmest rest.
Is thy Heaven so very fair
That thou dost forget us there?
Speak, belovèd! Woe is me
That in vain I call on thee!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |