"I think I hear the sound of horses feet Beating upon the gravelled avenue. Go to the window that looks on the street, He would not let me die alone, I knew. " Back to the couch the patient watcher passed, And said: "It is the wailing of the blast."
She turned upon her couch and, seeming, slept, The long, dark lashes shadowing her cheek; And on and on the weary moments crept, When suddenly the watcher heard her speak: "I think I hear the sound of horses' hoofs -- " And answered, "Tis the rain upon the roofs."
Unbroken silence, quiet, deep, profound. The restless sleeper turns: "How dark, how late! What is it that I hear -- a trampling sound? I think there is a horseman at the gate. " The watcher turns away her eyes tear-blind: "It is the shutter beating in the wind."
The dread hours passed; the patient clock ticked on; The weary watcher moved not from her place. The grey dim shadows of the early dawn Caught sudden glory from the sleeper's face. "He comes! my love! I knew he would! " she cried; And, smiling sweetly in her slumbers, died.
End of title
Sign in to unlock this title
Sign in to continue reading, it's free! As an unregistered user you can only read a little bit.
