At the Fireside.
I scarcely heard you enter, for your tread Was quiet as the footfall of the dead. It is no dream—this joy beyond compare— I see you fi'l again the empty chair. The fire leaps up; so does the heart within, Whose hours of happiness at last begin. Spare me some amiks to cheer me, comrade sweet, And let me take my old place—at your feet. Your voice, peihap’, would only break the tp.ll, It had so sad a i Ing at our farewell! At our farewell, whoso heartache lies behind, Repaid, and amply by an hour so kind, After there months which seem eternities ; I read your thoughts within your gracious eyes. Poor the dream-world wherein my thoughts have moved, I cinnot live on longer—unbeloved. . . Now, hot with passim, lingi-rs hand in hand, For us the gates of Eden open stand. * * * * * * 0 dream, that vanished with the whitened (inters, No rosebuds blow for us in cold Decembers. The mumbled ashes bury our debght, And I look out up on a starless night. Alan Metrick.
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At the Fireside., Evening Star, Issue 7957, 12 July 1889, Supplement
At the Fireside. Evening Star, Issue 7957, 12 July 1889, Supplement
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