 | The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard |  |
331
[What shall I do next summer]
What shall I do next summer,
What will become of me
When I draw near my cottage,
Beside the solemn sea?
What will become of me
When I draw near my cottage,
Beside the solemn sea?
Along the dusty roadside
I shall not see him run,
To greet his loving father,
So proud to meet his son.
I shall not see him run,
To greet his loving father,
So proud to meet his son.
No longer in the distance
I'll strain my eager eyes,
To catch him at the window,
And mark his sweet surprise.
I'll strain my eager eyes,
To catch him at the window,
And mark his sweet surprise.
The gate how can I enter?
How bear to touch the door
That opens in the chambers
Where he is seen no more?
How bear to touch the door
That opens in the chambers
Where he is seen no more?
When last I crossed the threshold
(I'm glad I did not take
His dear dead body thither,)
I thought my heart would break.
(I'm glad I did not take
His dear dead body thither,)
I thought my heart would break.
“My son was here last summer,
He sat in yonder chair;
And there, beside the window,
I kissed his golden hair!”
He sat in yonder chair;
And there, beside the window,
I kissed his golden hair!”
With every sweet remembrance
There came a burst of tears;
There is but one such tempest
In all our stormy years.
There came a burst of tears;
There is but one such tempest
In all our stormy years.
332
I kissed the chair he sat in,
The spot his feet had trod;
I clutched the empty darkness
To pluck him back from God.
The spot his feet had trod;
I clutched the empty darkness
To pluck him back from God.
O ruined heart and hearth-stone!
What will become of me,
In my deserted dwelling
Beside the dreadful sea?
What will become of me,
In my deserted dwelling
Beside the dreadful sea?
| The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard | |