WHAT magic long ago was in your footstep,
That changed each night to day,
And swung high noon to midnight every hour
You went away.
How long the time--is now beyond my telling,
With days become as years,
And that last pledge of your returning--seasons
I only know my heart is beating slowly:
Come--and swift your feet!
Or else there will be neither noon nor midnight
When we meet.
THERE is no refuge from this wind tonight,
Though sound the roof and double-latched the door,
And though I've trimmed the wick, there is no light,
Nor is there warmth although the tamaracks roar;
Nor will the battery of those surges keep
The hammering pulses silent in my sleep.
But one alone might quell this storm tonight,
And were he now this moment at the door,
His eyes would clear the shadows from this light,
His voice put laughter in the billets' roar,
And he would clasp me in his arms and keep
The wheeling gulls from screaming through my sleep.