The adopted daughter and other tales |
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| 56. | WATCHING. |
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 | The adopted daughter |  |
361
WATCHING.
BY PHŒBE CAREY
Summer in the fields of harvest
Binds the yellow sheaves of grain,
One long year that mournful shadow
On the maiden's heart has lain.
Sits she now beside the window,
Looking eagerly without,
Sometimes hopeful, sometimes yielding
To the bitterness of doubt.
Rocking to and fro, and singing,
As of old a lonesome tune,
Often breaking off to ask me
If the year has worn to June.
And when I have said, the roses
Are all fading from their prime;
Then she says, that he is coming,
That she knew that it was time!
Yester night she gaily pointed
To the pleasant fields in sight,
Where the wheat was bending heavy,
And the rye-stalks turning white:
Binds the yellow sheaves of grain,
One long year that mournful shadow
On the maiden's heart has lain.
Sits she now beside the window,
Looking eagerly without,
Sometimes hopeful, sometimes yielding
To the bitterness of doubt.
Rocking to and fro, and singing,
As of old a lonesome tune,
Often breaking off to ask me
If the year has worn to June.
And when I have said, the roses
Are all fading from their prime;
Then she says, that he is coming,
That she knew that it was time!
Yester night she gaily pointed
To the pleasant fields in sight,
Where the wheat was bending heavy,
And the rye-stalks turning white:
362
And she whispered, softly blushing
At the trembling of her tone,
he comes while we are waiting,
Let me see him first, alone!”
O, these eves are almost over,
All I wished is nearly won,
When the autumn winds blow chilly
Then my watching will be done!”
At the trembling of her tone,
he comes while we are waiting,
Let me see him first, alone!”
O, these eves are almost over,
All I wished is nearly won,
When the autumn winds blow chilly
Then my watching will be done!”
| The adopted daughter | |