‘ There's a footstep coming: look out and see,’ ‘ The leaves are falling, the wind is calling; No one cometh across the lea.’ — ‘ There's a footstep coming; O sister, look.’ —
‘ The ripple flashes, the white foam dashes; No one cometh across the brook.’ — ‘ But he promised that he would come: To-night, to-morrow, in joy or sorrow,
He must keep his word, and must come home. ‘ For he promised that he would come: His word was given; from earth or heaven, He must keep his word, and must come home.
‘ Go to sleep, my sweet sister Jane; You can slumber, who need not number Hour after hour, in doubt and pain. ‘ I shall sit here awhile, and watch;
Listening, hoping, for one hand groping In deep shadow to find the latch.’ After the dark, and before the light, One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping,
Who had watched and wept the weary night. After the night, and before the day, One lay sleeping; and one sat weeping — Watching, weeping for one away.
There came a footstep climbing the stair; Some one standing out on the landing Shook the door like a puff of air — Shook the door, and in he passed.
Did he enter? In the room centre Stood her husband: the door shut fast. ‘ O Robin, but you are cold — Chilled with the night-dew: so lily-white you
Look like a stray lamb from our fold. ‘ O Robin, but you are late: Come and sit near me — sit here and cheer me.’ — ( Blue the flame burnt in the grate. )
‘ Lay not down your head on my breast: I cannot hold you, kind wife, nor fold you In the shelter that you love best. ‘ Feel not after my clasping hand:
I am but a shadow, come from the meadow Where many lie, but no tree can stand. ‘ We are trees which have shed their leaves: Our heads lie low there, but no tears flow there;
Only I grieve for my wife who grieves. ‘ I could rest if you would not moan Hour after hour; I have no power To shut my ears where I lie alone.
‘ I could rest if you would not cry; But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping — Watching, weeping so bitterly.’ — ‘ Woe's me! woe's me! for this I have heard.
Oh night of sorrow!— oh black to-morrow! Is it thus that you keep your word? ‘ O you who used so to shelter me Warm from the least wind — why, now the east wind
Is warmer than you, whom I quake to see. ‘ O my husband of flesh and blood, For whom my mother I left, and brother, And all I had, accounting it good,
‘ What do you do there, underground, In the dark hollow? I'm fain to follow. What do you do there?— what have you found?’ — ‘ What I do there I must not tell:
But I have plenty: kind wife, content ye: It is well with us — it is well. ‘ Tender hand hath made our nest; Our fear is ended, our hope is blended
With present pleasure, and we have rest.’ — ‘ Oh, but Robin, I'm fain to come, If your present days are so pleasant; For my days are so wearisome.
‘ Yet I'll dry my tears for your sake: Why should I tease you, who cannot please you Any more with the pains I take?’
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