 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
PASSING FEET.
All these hours she sits and counts,
As they pass her slow and sad,
Are the headsmen cutting off
Every flower of hope she had;
As they pass her slow and sad,
Are the headsmen cutting off
Every flower of hope she had;
And the feet that come and go
In the darkness past her door,
If they trod upon her heart,
Could not pain it any more.
In the darkness past her door,
If they trod upon her heart,
Could not pain it any more.
Friends hastening now to friends,
Faster as the night grows late;
Through all places men can go,
To all homes where women wait.
Faster as the night grows late;
Through all places men can go,
To all homes where women wait.
Some are pressing through the wood
Where the path is faint and new;
Some strike out a shorter way,
Across meadows wet with dew.
Where the path is faint and new;
Some strike out a shorter way,
Across meadows wet with dew.
Some, along the highway's track,
Music to their footsteps keep;
Some are pushing into port,
From their exile on the deep.
Music to their footsteps keep;
Some are pushing into port,
From their exile on the deep.
But the hope she had at eve
From her wretched soul has fled;
For the lamp of love she lit
Has burned useless, and is dead.
From her wretched soul has fled;
For the lamp of love she lit
Has burned useless, and is dead.
So the feet that come and go,
In the darkness past her door,
If they trod upon her heart
Could not pain it any more!
In the darkness past her door,
If they trod upon her heart
Could not pain it any more!
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |