<h2><SPAN name="page69"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>WAITING.</h2>
<p class="poetry">“O <span class="smcap">come</span>, O
come,” the mother pray’d<br/>
And hush’d her babe: “let me behold<br/>
Once more thy stately form array’d<br/>
Like autumn woods in green and gold!</p>
<p class="poetry">“I see thy brethren come and go;<br/>
Thy peers in stature, and in hue<br/>
Thy rivals. Same like monarchs glow<br/>
With richest purple: some are blue</p>
<p class="poetry">“As skies that tempt the swallow back;<br/>
Or red as, seen o’er wintry seas,<br/>
The star of storm; or barr’d with black<br/>
And yellow, like the April bees.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page70"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
70</span>“Come they and go! I heed not, I.<br/>
Yet others hail their advent, cling<br/>
All trustful to their side, and fly<br/>
Safe in their gentle piloting</p>
<p class="poetry">“To happy homes on heath or hill,<br/>
By park or river. Still I wait<br/>
And peer into the darkness: still<br/>
Thou com’st not—I am desolate.</p>
<p class="poetry">“Hush! hark! I see a towering
form!<br/>
From the dim distance slowly roll’d<br/>
It rocks like lilies in a storm,<br/>
And O, its hues are green and gold:</p>
<p class="poetry">“It comes, it comes! Ah rest is
sweet,<br/>
And there is rest, my babe, for us!”<br/>
She ceased, as at her very feet<br/>
Stopp’d the St. John’s Wood omnibus.</p>
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