Читать книгу The Old Soldier's Story: Poems and Prose Sketches - Riley James Whitcomb - Страница 31

Lelloine! Lelloine! Don't you hear me calling?

Calling through the night for you, and calling through the day;

Calling when the dawn is here, and when the dusk is falling —

Calling for my Lelloine the angels lured away!

Lelloine! I call and listen, starting from my pillow —

In the hush of midnight, Lelloine! I cry,

And o'er the rainy window-pane I hear the weeping willow

Trail its dripping leaves like baby-fingers in reply.

Lelloine, I miss the glimmer of your glossy tresses,

I miss the dainty velvet palms that nestled in my own;

And all my mother-soul went out in answerless caresses,

And a storm of tears and kisses when you left me here alone.

I have prayed, O Lelloine, but Heaven will not hear me,

I can not gain one sign from Him who leads you by the hand;

And O it seems that ne'er again His mercy will come near me —

That He will never see my need, nor ever understand.

Won't you listen, Lelloine? – just a little leaning

O'er the walls of Paradise – lean and hear my prayer,

And interpret death to Him in all its awful meaning,

And tell Him you are lonely without your mother there.