Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/167

 Into Sam's dreams, as he lay asleep, That his Mother was lost, and away he'd fare, Calling her, calling her, everywhere, In dark, in rain, by roads unknown, Under echoing hills, and alone, alone. What bliss in the morning to wake and see The sun shining green in the linden tree, And out of that dream's dark shadowiness To slip in on his Mother and give her a kiss, And go whistling off in the dew to hear The thrushes all mocking him, sweet and clear.

Still, moon after moon from heaven above Shone on Mother and son, and made light of love. Her roses faded, her pretty brown hair Had sorrowful grey in it everywhere. And at last she died, and was laid to rest, Her tired hands crossed on her shrunken breast, And Sam, now lonely, lived on and on Till most of his workaday life seemed gone.

Yet spring came again with its green and blue, And presently summer's wild roses too, Pinks, Sweet William, and sops-in-wine, Blackberry, lavender, eglantine. And when these had blossomed and gone their way, 'Twas apples, and daisies and Michaelmas Day — Yes, spider-webs, dew, and haws in the may, And seraphs singing in Michaelmas Day.