 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
18.
She filled her flagon, and homeward fliesLike wind-driven cloud across the skies;
Fast and faster her hurrying feet,
Quick and quicker her heart's wild beat;
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On her footsteps seemed to follow!
Not Mother-Earth's short, sobbing speeches,
As when the coffin-lid she reaches—
But her tone, low, muffled, dull,
As when a grave is nearly full!
And yet the sky above was clearer—
The Lady felt that God was near her;
And then her heart was warm with prayer,
—Oh! her home—she's almost there.
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |