46
THE BROTHER'S HAND.
What then? The thistles blew across the rain,
The grey, wet thorn-tree glimmered once and shook.
She thought: "If one should never come again—
Should never come—after a bitter look?"
And—the dry asters from the mantel fell:
She brought no fresh ones for the vases. Well!
And silence settled in his favourite book.
The grey, wet thorn-tree glimmered once and shook.
She thought: "If one should never come again—
Should never come—after a bitter look?"
And—the dry asters from the mantel fell:
She brought no fresh ones for the vases. Well!
And silence settled in his favourite book.
She did not thin her beauty with her tears,
But was she tearless? Doubtless she was not.
But all the outward gladness of her years
Was not because of one great grief forgot.
Loose hair and laughter, singing quick and sweet,
Followed about the green home-grass her feet,
And quieted all wordless, kindly fears.
But was she tearless? Doubtless she was not.
But all the outward gladness of her years
Was not because of one great grief forgot.
Loose hair and laughter, singing quick and sweet,
Followed about the green home-grass her feet,
And quieted all wordless, kindly fears.
She had no mother. But her father said:
"You are too hasty, little girl, I fear.
Hugh is a manly fellow; as for Fred
The villain! Hugh will come again, my dear,
Before the fashion of your dress shall change,
And we shall have our wedding." Was it strange?
The dress grew quaint. And Hugh did not appear.
"You are too hasty, little girl, I fear.
Hugh is a manly fellow; as for Fred
The villain! Hugh will come again, my dear,
Before the fashion of your dress shall change,
And we shall have our wedding." Was it strange?
The dress grew quaint. And Hugh did not appear.
