Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/160

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.

THE KINE OF MY FATHER

The kine of my father, they are straying from my keeping;
The young goat's at mischief, but little can I do
For all through the night did I hear the banshee keening;
youth of my loving, and is it well with you?

All through the night sat my mother with my sorrow;
“Whisht, it is the storm, O one children of my heart!”
My hair with the wind, and my two hands clasped in anguish;
Black head of my darling ! too long are we apart.

Were your grave at my feet, I would think it half a blessing;
I could herd then the cattle, and drive the goats away;
Many a Paternoster I would say for your safe keeping;
I could sleep above your heart until the dawn of day.

I see you on the prairie, hot with thirst and faint with hunger;
The head that I love lying low upon the sand.
The vultures shriek impatient, and the coyote dogs are howling,
Till the blood is pulsing cold within your clenching hand.

I see you on the voters, so white, so still, forsaken,
Your dear eyes unclosing beneath a foreign rain:
A plaything of the winds, you turn and dritt unceasing.
No grave for your resting; O mine the bitter pain!

141