"I THINK I hear the sound of horses feet Beating upon the gravelled avenue. Go to the window that looks on the street, He would not let me die alone, I knew." Back to the couch the patient watcher passed, And said: "It is the wailing of the blast." She turned upon her couch and, seeming, slept, The long, dark lashes shadowing her cheek; And on and on the weary moments crept, When suddenly the watcher heard her speak: "I think I hear the sound of horses' hoofs—" And answered, "'Tis the rain upon the roofs." Unbroken silence, quiet, deep, profound. The restless sleeper turns: "How dark, how late! What is it that I hear—a trampling sound? I think there is a horseman at the gate." The watcher turns away her eyes tear-blind: "It is the shutter beating in the wind." The dread hours passed; the patient clock ticked on; The weary watcher moved not from her place. The grey dim shadows of the early dawn Caught sudden glory from the sleeper's face. "He comes! my love! I knew he would!" she cried; And, smiling sweetly in her slumbers, died. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SURFACES AND MASKS; 3 by CLARENCE MAJOR HOW WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE by ADAM LINDSAY GORDON ODES IV, 7. TO TORQUATUS. DIFFUGERE NIVES by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS THE COMPLAINT OF THE FAIR ARMOURESS by FRANCOIS VILLON AN IRISH AIRMAN FORESEES HIS DEATH by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE LIFE OF MAN by FRANCIS BACON |