I ONE mile more is Where your door is, Mother mine! - Harvest's coming, Mills are strumming, Apples fine, And the cider made to-year will be as wine. II Yet, not viewing What's a-doing Here around Is it thrills me, And so fills me That I bound Like a ball or leaf or lamb along the ground. III Tremble not now At your lot now, Silly soul! Hosts have sped them Quick to wed them, Great and small, Since the first two sighing half-hearts made a whole. IV Yet I wonder, Will it sunder Her from me? Will she guess that I said 'Yes,' - that His I'd be, Ere I thought she might not see him as I see! V Old brown gable, Granary, stable, Here you are! O my mother, Can another Ever bar Mine from thy heart, make thy nearness seem afar? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOM O'ROUGHLEY by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS GEORGE MOSES HORTON, MYSELF by GEORGE MOSES HORTON PER PACEM AD LUCEM by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER SUNSET WINGS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI CHRISTMAS HYMN by HARRIET AUBER ALFARABI; THE WORLD-MAKER. A RHAPSODICAL FRAGMENT by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |