He saw them out of the cottage door,
The lame boy sitting upon the floor:
“Mother, mother, how long will it be
Till the prairie go like a waving sea?
Will the bare woods ever be green—and when?
O, will it ever be summer again?”—
She looked in silence on her child:
That large eye, ever so dark and wild,
Oh me, how bright!—it may have been
That he was grown so pale and thin.