Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/284

Or if a leaf in loving leaned too far
From her high branch, and whirled upon his hair,
The woman ran to break it in her hand
And raise the sunny curl it lit on there.

And oft she kissed his throat all full of song—
Without excuse, to hear his laughter go,
Caught by some echo sung from tree to tree,
Into the distance like a streamlets flow.

So went the hours until one mom she rose
To find him gone, and sought him all the day.
And when at purple eve the man came home.
All loud with weeping she did stop his way.

“He is not lost,” the man said with a smile,
And proud of heart he held her by the hand;
“He lingers but a little, for his feet
Are on a strange road still in manhood's land.”

She looked and saw a youth upon the path.
With axe upon his shoulder, and his eye
All strong and clear to meet the world and fight
A victor's fight, should one his claims deny.

Quick to her side he came with joyous step
To kiss her cheek that was so pale and wan;
And yet she saw his gaze go past her face,
Some stranger maiden so to rest upon.

But as he stood, the man soft murmuring
Looked, saying slow, “It is my son, my son,
So straight of limb, so comely thus to see;
Now is the glory of my life begun.”

But when the night was still the woman went
Where slept the youth in his small room alone;
And from a hiding-place a casket drew,
With now a tear, and oft a stifled moan.