Poems (Blake)/Heartsick

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

HEARTSICK!

"Is it the tramp of men to battle
 Breaking across the silent night,
The stinging roll of the muskets' rattle,
 The far-off shock of the deadly fight?
Is it the moan of strong men dying,
 Coming across the dreary plain?"
"Mother, only the south wind sighing,
 And the falling drops of the summer rain."

"Listen again! where the hill lies glooming,
 Flinging its shadow across the grass,
Did you not hear the cannon booming.
 And clash of steel from the rocky pass?
Now drawing nearer, now retreating,
 Are there not cries on the village green?"
"Only the surf on the dark rocks beating,
 And the roll of the thunder dropped between."

Alas and alas! When the heart is fearing,
 Every shadow has life and weight,
Even the wind, to the spirit's hearing,
 Comes like the call of a beck'ning Fate!
You, O child, in your springtime gladness,
 Only the wrath of the tempest see,—

I, with a longing, sick heart sadness,
 What does the south wind say to me?

That some place where its breath is falling
 He is fighting,—perhaps is slain;
That some place where its voice is calling
 He is moaning my name in vain;
Somewhere under its lonely sighing,
 In broken slumber or deadly strife,
In camp or field is the true heart lying
 That calls you "darling" and calls me "wife."

You and I, my little one, nesting
 Safe by his hearthstone, far away,—
What shall we do for our soldier's resting,—
 What can we do but wait and pray.
Through all the changes life may ring us,
 Waiting and praying with trust and might,
But most of all when the south winds bring us
 A message from him, as they do to-night.