(Sydney Thompson Dobell)






Home In War-Time


SHE turnd the fair page with her fairer hand 
More fair and frail than it was wont to be 
Oer each rememberd thing he lovd to see
She lingerd, and as with a fairys wand
Enchanted it to order. Oft she fannd
New motes into the sun; and as a bee
Sings thro a brake of bells, so murmurd she,
And so her patient love did understand
The reliquary room. Upon the sill
She fed his favorite bird. Ah, Robin, sing!
He loves thee. Then she touches a sweet string
Of soft recall, and towards the Eastern hill
Smiles all her soulfor him who cannot hear
The raven croaking at his carrion ear. 




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