 | The poems of Thomas Gordon Hake (1894) |  |
1
ALONE
Loved, wedded, and caressed,
Although her children died
She still seemed doubly blest,
Her helpmate at her side
More dear than all the rest!
Although her children died
She still seemed doubly blest,
Her helpmate at her side
More dear than all the rest!
But sorrow did not kill
The thought of those so dear,
Who all her feelings fill,
As though still with her here
To play about her still.
The thought of those so dear,
Who all her feelings fill,
As though still with her here
To play about her still.
Her little children's fate
She never could recall,
Yet lived she desolate,
For she had lost them all,—
And then she lost her mate.
She never could recall,
Yet lived she desolate,
For she had lost them all,—
And then she lost her mate.
2
When came that hour of woe
And all she loved was gone,
Not sorrow's keenest blow
Left her fond heart alone;
No parting could it know.
And all she loved was gone,
Not sorrow's keenest blow
Left her fond heart alone;
No parting could it know.
Nigh her he still appears,
The early times so cling;
Her simple heart still hears
Her children laugh and sing
As in the happy years.
The early times so cling;
Her simple heart still hears
Her children laugh and sing
As in the happy years.
The dead to her remain;
She heeds each gentle sound
Of theirs within her brain,
And answers smiling round:
‘Sweet love, say that again!’
She heeds each gentle sound
Of theirs within her brain,
And answers smiling round:
‘Sweet love, say that again!’
Is it that angels dwell
In that lone mother's breast?
She knows not what befell,
And so is doubly blest:
No more her heart can tell.
In that lone mother's breast?
She knows not what befell,
And so is doubly blest:
No more her heart can tell.
| The poems of Thomas Gordon Hake (1894) | |