poems.
33
WAITING.
An old man sat beneath a tree;
His heavy locks were straying
Among the breezes free and wild,
That sweetly round were playing.
His heavy locks were straying
Among the breezes free and wild,
That sweetly round were playing.
He raised his withered, aged hands
Towards the heavens fair,
And from those lips, so wan and thin,
Went forth a fervent prayer.
Towards the heavens fair,
And from those lips, so wan and thin,
Went forth a fervent prayer.
"What makes you look so sad, grandpa?"
Cried a sunny, fair-haired child.
She had left her careless, happy play,
And checked her laughter wild.
Cried a sunny, fair-haired child.
She had left her careless, happy play,
And checked her laughter wild.
"My child!" the aged man replied,
"I feel my days on earth are few;
This withered form will ere long be
Resting 'neath the evening's dew."
"I feel my days on earth are few;
This withered form will ere long be
Resting 'neath the evening's dew."
"Why, dearest grandpa!" cried the child,
"You surely love your little girl;
"You surely love your little girl;
