Poems (Greenwell)/In Sadness
IN SADNESS.
A child in sickness left behind its mates
Upon a summer holiday, from tears
Refrains himself a little while, and waits
Perchance in hope to see some comrade kind
Come back to play with him, but no! he hears
Their voices die away, and up the hill
Now, thinks he, they are climbing, now they wind
Along the hedge-row path, and now they find
The berries that o'erhang it; even now
The red ripe nuts from off the hazel bough
Are dropping fast, and then across the brook
He hears them shouting to each other, through
The alder-bushes. So his thoughts pursue
Those wand'rers on their way, until his look
Steals wistful to the sunshine, and his book
Drops from his hand; what would he with that glad
Free company 1 too weary for their glee,
Too weak to join their sports—yet he is sad;
Then comes his mother, lifting tenderly
Her darling on her knee, and all his day
Glides peaceful on, though none come back to play.
The house is very still; none come between
Their quiet talk, she smiles on him serene,
He speaketh oft to her of those away;
So, Father, I am left! I will not mourn
To follow after them, so I may be
The closer to thy heart;—so I am drawn
Through stillness and through sadness nearer Thee!
Upon a summer holiday, from tears
Refrains himself a little while, and waits
Perchance in hope to see some comrade kind
Come back to play with him, but no! he hears
Their voices die away, and up the hill
Now, thinks he, they are climbing, now they wind
Along the hedge-row path, and now they find
The berries that o'erhang it; even now
The red ripe nuts from off the hazel bough
Are dropping fast, and then across the brook
He hears them shouting to each other, through
The alder-bushes. So his thoughts pursue
Those wand'rers on their way, until his look
Steals wistful to the sunshine, and his book
Drops from his hand; what would he with that glad
Free company 1 too weary for their glee,
Too weak to join their sports—yet he is sad;
Then comes his mother, lifting tenderly
Her darling on her knee, and all his day
Glides peaceful on, though none come back to play.
The house is very still; none come between
Their quiet talk, she smiles on him serene,
He speaketh oft to her of those away;
So, Father, I am left! I will not mourn
To follow after them, so I may be
The closer to thy heart;—so I am drawn
Through stillness and through sadness nearer Thee!