UPON the bleak and barren moor I met a wandering child; Her cheeks were pale, her hair hung lank, Her sunken eyes gleamed wild. "And have you no kind mother, child?" I asked, with softened tone. "My mother went away lang syne, And left me here alone. "'Twas in the winter weather, black, The night lay on the moor; The angry winds went howling by Our creaking cottage door. "My mother lay upon her bed, She shook and shivered sore; She clasped me in her trembling arms, She kissed me o'er and o'er. "I knelt beside her on the ground, I wailed in bitter sorrow; The wind without upon the moor My wailing seemed to borrow. "My mother strove to soothe my grief; But while she spoke, alas! Across her sunken face I saw A sudden shadow pass. "And she fell back, so weak and wan, -- Oh! Sir, I never heard Her voice again, or caught the sound Of one fond, farewell word! "The black winds blew -- my eyes were dry; I hushed my bitter moan, But I knew that she was gone away, And I was left alone. "The black winds blew -- the heavy hail On hill and holt was driven; But @3she@1 went up the golden stair, And through the gate of heaven. "They bore her to the churchyard grave; The little daisies love it; But I never sit the mound beside, Nor shed a tear above it. "My mother is not there; in dreams, When winter woods are hoary, I see her on the golden stair, Beside the gate of glory. "Her eyes are calm, her forehead shines, Amid the heavenly splendor; On earth her face was kind, but ne'er Wore smiles so sweet and tender. "And, Sir, one night, not long ago, -- December storms were beating, -- I heard her voice, so fond and dear, Float down, my name repeating. "The fir-trees rocked upon the hill, And blast to blast was calling -- She said, 'The earth is dark and drear; Come home, come home, my darling!' "The black winds blew -- the heavy hail On hill and holt was driven -- She said, 'Come up the golden stair, And through the gate of heaven!' "And soon, oh soon!" -- but here speech Broke off; a sudden lightness Passed o'er the child's pale cheek and brow, As with a sunbeam's brightness, -- And she went wandering o'er the moor, Low crooning some wild ditty: -- "God's calm," I said, "be on her shed, And God's exceeding pity!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TANGENTIAL by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE VISIONARY by EMILY JANE BRONTE A PROPHECY by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY by EDWARD LEAR SONNET: 21. TO CYRIACK SKINNER by JOHN MILTON |