For the tapers are lit in the humble old dwelling,
And the love that it sheltered is calling me home.
It is calling me home—but the white road lies gleaming,
And afar from it all must I tarry and dree;
Just an echo far off, in the hush of my dreaming,
Is the voice of a youngster that’s calling to me.
THE LITTLE IRISH MOTHER
Have you seen the tidy cottage in the straggling, dusty street,
Where the roses swing their censers by the door?
Have you heard the happy prattle and the tramp of tiny feet