Poems (Sharpless)/The Return
For works with similar titles, see The Return.
THE RETURN"It is our mother's bosom that we seek in all the sorrows of life."
I am weary of wandering, mother, Now let me sit down at your feet;Tor the shadows are stretching across the floor, And the dew-damp air is sweet.Now far away o'er the harvest field,The moon comes up like a blood-red shield.
I have roamed all the summer day, mother, Down thro' the old dim wood,Where not a sunbeam can find its way To the depth of the solitude.Where the stream runs dark 'neath the arching trees,Unstirred by the wayward summer breeze.
But I did not wander alone all day, For a radiant friend was mine;And we talked of a thousand wondrous things, Half earthly and half divine.Such bliss it was never my lot to prove,For, mother, you've guessed? that I talked with Love.
But, oh, my mother—and here is the grief, When even came sad and mild,He spread his pinions for fairer lands; Oh, mother, enfold your child,And soothe me to rest with some old-time song,For it seems to me I've been wandering long.