Poems and Baudelaire Flowers/Coming

by John Collings Squire

COMING

An hour ago she climbed the stair
And stepped into her lonely room,
And found his letter lying there
Upon the table, in the gloom.

She dropped it with a little sigh.
Took off her hat and old green coat
And lit the lamp with scrutinous eye,
Just murmuring, “The same old note.

“He’s aching to be here, but sees
No earthly chance of coming yet.
The fates are deaf to paupers’ pleas”. . . .
She turned again, her lids were wet.

An hour ago she picked it up
And saw his opening burst of joy,
Half-blinded clasped her brimming cup,
And cried aloud, “My boy, my boy!”