Poems (Victor)/The Passing of Alice
THE PASSING OF ALICE.
In the city, hot and breathless city,
At her open casement wide and high,
With a face that moves our hearts to pity,
Leans pale Alice, gazing on the sky;
Gazing out above the housetops dreary,
Where the countless chimneys crowd the view,
Seeking with a wistful look and weary
Through the smoke, a glimpse of heaven's blue.
Sighing "'Tis June; I see the pleasant meadows
'Round my home lie peaceful in the sun;
Fleecy clouds flit overhead, and shadows
Chase the wind-blown dimples as they run
Down the ripening hay-fields, and the clover
Nods its honied blossoms in the breeze;
Sun-steeped sweetnesses exhale, and over
Cups of nectar drone the laden bees.
Down the lane the locust trees are shining,
White with scented plumes, too sickly sweet,
Dainty eglantine, the fences twining,
Sheds its fragrance to the quiet street;
In the elms that meet above our dwelling
Orioles swing, singing to their young—
Happy birds, whose pretty throats are swelling
With the joy of their home-coming song.
List! I hear the children's voices singing
Roundelays, as they bring home the kine,
Sweet-breathed heifers round whose necks are clinging
Garlands of some flowering wayside vine;
Hear my mother, as they laugh and linger,
Call each name—her rosary of pearls—
See her touch each one with gentle finger,
This one's cheek, and that one's sunny curls;
Hear my father's mellow tones commingling
With the sounds a-field, the click of hoes,
The clashing of the corn-blades, the ear-tingling,
Faint-growing shots along the bristling rows.
Oh, the free, fair haven of my childhood!
Oh, the sweet, sure love that never failed!
Oh, the pure, bright fancies dreamed in wildwood
Ere the dews of life's young morn exhaled!
Is this summer? I am cold and weary.
June? I see the pleasant fields no more.
Home? The landscape wintry is and dreary,
And no mother meets me at the door."—
Ah, her eyes are closed upon these shadows;
Hushed for her the birds' song, the bees' drone;
As her white feet touch the heavenly meadows,
Sweet with asphodel, she finds her own.