The Comrades :: :: University of Virginia Library

In solitary rooms, when dusk is falling,
I hear from fields beyond the haunted mountains,
Beyond the unrepenetrable forests,—
I hear the voices of my comrades calling
Home! home! home!

Strange ghostly voices, when the dusk is falling,
Come from the ancient years; and I remember
The schoolboy shout, from plain and wood and river,

The signal-cry of scattered comrades, calling
“Home! home! home!”

And home we wended when the dusk was falling;
The pledged companions, talking, laughing, singing;
Home through the grey French country, no one missing.
And now I hear the old-time voices calling
Home! home! home!

I pause and listen while the dusk is falling;
My heart leaps back through all the long estrangement
Of changing faith, lost hopes, paths disenchanted;
And tears drop as I hear the voices calling
Home! home! home!

I hear you while the dolorous dusk is falling;
I sigh your names—the living—the departed!
O vanished comrades, is it yours the poignant
Pathetic note among the voices calling
Home, home, home?

Call, and still call me, for the dusk is falling.
Call for I fain, I fain would come, but cannot.
Call, as the shepherd calls upon the moorland.
Though mute, with beating heart I hear your calling,
Home! home! home!