Classic Poem

I sat one day at the door of a tomb,
In from the stir of the busy street,
I entered a house, in whose every room
Were viewless prints of departed feet.

All was familiar; the light shone through
On books and tables, on pictured wall;
They were well known objects that met my view,
Yet a shadowy change was over them all.

With aching heart and with starting tear,
I longed for glances I did not meet,
For a woman's voice that I did not hear,
For a loving hand-clasp, warm and sweet.

Radiant eyes where the true heart shone;
Light feet speeding at duty's call;
Hands so busy: — (their work is done)
Tongue cannot tell how I miss them all.

I miss them all; and I miss as well
The household darling, the maiden mild;
Her music that charmed with its magic spell;
The winsome ways of a happy child.

O earnest matron! O maiden sweet.
My heart would ache and the tears would come,
As I turned again to the busy street,
Saying but little — for grief is dumb.