Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 53

Rich in the waning light she sat

While the fierce rain on the window spat.

The yellow lamp-glow lit her face,

Shadows cloaked the narrow place

She sat adream in. Then she'd look

Idly upon an idle book;

Anon would rise and musing peer

Out at the misty street and drear;

Or with her loosened dark hair play,

Hiding her fingers' snow away;

And, singing softly, would sing on

When the desire of song had gone.

"O lingering day!" her bosom sighed,

"O laggard Time!" each motion cried.

Last she took the lamp and stood

Rich in its flood,

And looked and looked again at what

Her longing fingers' zeal had wrought;

And turning then did nothing say,

Hiding her thoughts away.

John Freeman

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