Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/259

240 And dusky faces passed and woke The echoes with the words they spoke— —The same old tales as other folk.

A truce to roaming! Never more I'll leave the home I loved of yore. But strangers meet me at the door.

I left my home still travelling, For yet I hear the strange birds sing, And foreign flowers rare perfumes bring.

I hear a distant voice, more wise Than others are 'neath foreign skies, I'll find—perhaps in paradise.