'T IS hard upon the dawn, and yet She comes not from the Ball. The night is cold, and bleak, and wet, And the snow lies over all. I praised her with her diamonds on: -- And, as she went, she smiled. And yet I sighed, when she was gone, Above our sleeping child. And all night long, as soft and slow As falls the falling rain, The thoughts of days gone long ago Have filled my heart again. Once more I hear the Rhine rush down, (I hear it in my mind!) Once more, about the sleeping town, The lamps wink in the wind. The narrow, silent street I pass: The house stands o'er the river: A light is at the casement-glass, That leads my soul forever. I feel my way along the gloom, Stair after stair, I push the door: I find no change within the room, And all things as of yore. One little room was all we had For June and for December. The world is wide, but O how sad It seems, when I remember! The cage with the canary-bird Hangs in the window still: The small red rose-tree is not stirred Upon the window-sill. Wide open her piano stands; -- That song I made to ease A passing pain while her soft hands Went faintly over the keys! The fire within the stove burns down; The light is dying fast. How dear is all it shines upon, That firelight of the Past! No sound! the drowsy Dutch-clock ticks. O, how should I forget The slender ebon crucifix, That by her bed is set? Her little bed is white as snow, -- How dear that little bed! Sweet dreams about the curtains go, And whisper round her head. That gentle head sleeps o'er her arm -- Sleeps all its soft brown hair: And those dear clothes of hers, yet warm, Droop open on the chair. Yet warm the snowy petticoat! The dainty corset too! How warm the ribbon from her throat, And warm each little shoe! Lie soft, dear arm upon the pillow! Sleep, foolish little head! Ah, well she sleeps! I know the willow That curtains her cold bed. -- Since last I trod that silent street 'T is many a year ago: And, if I there could set my feet Once more, I do not know If I should find it where it was, That house upon the river: But the light that lit the casement-glass I know is dark forever. Hark! wheels below, ...my lady's knock! -- Farewell, the old romance! -- Well, dear, you're late, -- past four o'clock! -- How often did you dance? Not cooler from the crowning waltz, She takes my half the pillow. -- Well, -- well! -- the women free from faults Have beds below the willow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MONTEREY [SEPTEMBER 23, 1846] by CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN ON THE 'VITA NUOVA' OF DANTE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI A ROCKING HYMN by GEORGE WITHER MORNING MIST by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD |