In an Hour
I.
A NTICIPATION .
" I' LL take the orchard path, " she said,
Speaking lowly, smiling slowly:
The brook was dried within its bed,
The hot sun flung a flame of red
Low in the west as forth she sped.
Across the dried brook-course she went,
Singing lowly, smiling slowly;
She scarcely felt the sun that spent
Its fiery force in swift descent,
She never saw the wheat was bent,
The grasses parched, the blossoms dried;
Singing lowly, smiling slowly,
Her eyes amidst the drouth espied
A summer pleasance far and wide,
With roses and sweet violets pied.
II.
D ISAPPOINTMENT
But homeward coming all the way,
Sighing lowly, pacing slowly,
She knew the bent wheat withering lay,
She saw the blossoms' dry decay,
She missed the little brooklet's play.
A breeze had sprung from out the south,
But, sighing lowly, pacing slowly,
She only felt the burning drouth;
Her eyes were hot and parched her mouth,
Yet sweet the wind blew from the south.
And when the wind brought welcome rain,
Still sighing lowly, pacing slowly,
She never saw the lifting grain,
But only — a lone orchard lane,
Where she had waited all in vain.
A NTICIPATION .
" I' LL take the orchard path, " she said,
Speaking lowly, smiling slowly:
The brook was dried within its bed,
The hot sun flung a flame of red
Low in the west as forth she sped.
Across the dried brook-course she went,
Singing lowly, smiling slowly;
She scarcely felt the sun that spent
Its fiery force in swift descent,
She never saw the wheat was bent,
The grasses parched, the blossoms dried;
Singing lowly, smiling slowly,
Her eyes amidst the drouth espied
A summer pleasance far and wide,
With roses and sweet violets pied.
II.
D ISAPPOINTMENT
But homeward coming all the way,
Sighing lowly, pacing slowly,
She knew the bent wheat withering lay,
She saw the blossoms' dry decay,
She missed the little brooklet's play.
A breeze had sprung from out the south,
But, sighing lowly, pacing slowly,
She only felt the burning drouth;
Her eyes were hot and parched her mouth,
Yet sweet the wind blew from the south.
And when the wind brought welcome rain,
Still sighing lowly, pacing slowly,
She never saw the lifting grain,
But only — a lone orchard lane,
Where she had waited all in vain.
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