And we seem, in the hush of our yearning voices, to hear
Their warm, familiar breathing somewhere near.
2.
At such an hour,—when again the autumn haze
Silvered the moors, and the new moon peered from the west
Over the blue Passaic, and the mansion shone
Clear and white on the ridge which skirts the stream,—
At the twilight hour a man and a woman sat
On the open porch, in the garb of those who mourn.
Father and daughter they seemed; and with thoughtful eyes,