 | Poems by Christopher Pearse Cranch |  |
98
III. TO MY SISTERS.
Sweet sisters, ye are far away, and nightHas closed around us, dark and chill and damp,
And sullen with dull clouds. Here by my lamp
Alone I sit, and in its tapering light
Feel a calm sympathy with common things
Which in the sun-bright day I never found.
A few small well-known books are scattered round,
Silent companions of my wanderings;
Silent and yet how eloquent! Alone
I may not call myself while these are near;
Still less, when thinking of my sisters dear,
My fancy hears the sweet familiar tone
Of merry voices, while amid your glee
Ye check the laugh sometimes and talk of me.
1836.
| Poems by Christopher Pearse Cranch | |