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



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!