COMING HOME
When the winter winds were loud,
And Earth wore a snowy shroud,
Oft our darling wrote to us,
And the words ran ever thus—
"I am coming in the spring!
With the mayflower's blossoming,
With the young leaves on the tree,
O my dear ones, look for me!"
And Earth wore a snowy shroud,
Oft our darling wrote to us,
And the words ran ever thus—
"I am coming in the spring!
With the mayflower's blossoming,
With the young leaves on the tree,
O my dear ones, look for me!"
And she came. One dreary day,
When the skies were dull and gray,
Softly through the open door
Our belovèd came once more.
Came with folded hands that lay
Very quietly alway—
Came with heavy-lidded eyes,
Lifted not in glad surprise.
When the skies were dull and gray,
Softly through the open door
Our belovèd came once more.
Came with folded hands that lay
Very quietly alway—
Came with heavy-lidded eyes,
Lifted not in glad surprise.
Not a single word she spoke;
Laugh nor sigh her silence broke
As across the quiet room,
Darkening in the twilight gloom,
On she passed in stillest guise,
Calm as saint in Paradise,
To the spot where—woe betide!—
Four years since she stood a bride.
Laugh nor sigh her silence broke
As across the quiet room,
Darkening in the twilight gloom,
On she passed in stillest guise,
Calm as saint in Paradise,
To the spot where—woe betide!—
Four years since she stood a bride.
