alone!
In vain he courted sleep;–one thought would ever in his heart
arise,–
The harsh words that at noon had brought the teardrops to her eyes.
Slowly on lifted arm he raised and listened. All was still as death;
He touched her forehead as he gazed, and listened yet, with bated
breath:
Still silently, as though he prayed, his lips moved lightly as she
slept–
For God was with him, and he laid his face with hers and wept.
Similar Posts
To hear her sing–to hear her sing–
In dewy groves on blooming spraysPour out their blithest roundelays.It is to hear the robin trillAt morning, or the whip-poor-willAt dusk, when stars are blossoming–To hear her sing–to hear her sing!To hear her sing–it is to hearThe laugh of childhood ringing clearIn woody path or grassy laneOur feet may never fare again.Faint, far away as…
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear;
There’s the song of the lark when the skies are clear,And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.The sunshine showers across the grain,And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;And in and out, when the eaves dip rain,The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,Be the skies above…
Leave him here in the fresh
And the symbols of love, and the solace of these-The saintly white lilies and blossoms he keepsIn endless caress ashe breathlessly sleeps.The tears of our eyes wrong the scene of his rest,For the sky’s at its clearest-the sun’s at its best-The earth at its greenest- its wild bud and bloomAt its sweetest-and sweetest its honey’d…
Wunst I looked our pepper-box lid
And cooked ’em on our stove one dayWhen our hired girl she said I may._Honey’s_ the goodest thing–Oo-_ooh_!And blackberry-pies is goodest, too!But wite hot biscuits, ist soakin’-wetWiv tree-mullasus, is goodest yet!Miss Maimie she’s my Ma’s friend,–an’She’s purtiest girl in all the lan’!–An’ sweetest smile an’ voice an’ face–An’ eyes ist looks like p’serves tas’e’!I _ruther_…
There are many things that boys may know–
Who made the world in the dark and litThe great sun up to lighten it:Boys know new things every day–When they study, or when they play,–When they idle, or sow and reap–But no boy knows when he goes to sleep.Boys who listen–or should, at least,–May know that the round old earth rolls East;–And know that…
Reach your hand to me, my friend,
Sometime there will come an endTo its present faithfulness–Sometime I may ask in vainFor the touch of it again,When between us land or seaHolds it ever back from me.Sometime I may need it so,Groping somewhere in the night,It will seem to me as thoughJust a touch, however light,Would make all the darkness day,And along some…