FROM HOUSE TO HOME.
175
This only can I tell: that hour by hour
I waxed more feastful, lifted up and glad;
I felt no thorn-prick when I plucked a flower,
Felt not my friend was sad.
I waxed more feastful, lifted up and glad;
I felt no thorn-prick when I plucked a flower,
Felt not my friend was sad.
"To-morrow," once I said to him with smiles:
"To-night," he answered gravely and was dumb,
But pointed out the stones that numbered miles
And miles and miles to come.
"To-night," he answered gravely and was dumb,
But pointed out the stones that numbered miles
And miles and miles to come.
"Not so," I said: "to-morrow shall be sweet;
To-night is not so sweet as coming days."
Then first I saw that he had turned his feet,
Had turned from me his face:
To-night is not so sweet as coming days."
Then first I saw that he had turned his feet,
Had turned from me his face:
Running and flying miles and miles he went,
But once looked back to beckon with his hand
And cry: "Come home, O love, from banishment:
Come to the distant land."
But once looked back to beckon with his hand
And cry: "Come home, O love, from banishment:
Come to the distant land."
