At last—the friendly summer night,
And children's voices calling after.
Long avenues sing out with light;
Murmurs arise and bursts of laughter.
I hear the lisp of happy feet—
Life goes by like a rushing river—
A boy comes whistling up the street...
And I am lonelier than ever.
FOLK-SONG
Back she came through the trembling dusk;
And her mother spoke and said:
"What is it makes you late to-day,
And why do you smile and sing as gay
As though you just were wed?"
"Oh mother, my hen that never had chicks
Has hatched out six!"
Back she came through the flaming dusk;
And her mother spoke and said:
"What gives your eyes that dancing light,
What makes your lips so strangely bright,
And why are your cheeks so red?"
"Oh mother, the berries I ate in the lane
Have left a stain."
Back she came through the faltering dusk;
And her mother spoke and said:
"You are weeping; your footstep is heavy with care—
What makes you totter and cling to the stair,
And why do you hang your head?"
"Oh mother—oh mother—you never can know—
I loved him so!"
IN THE STREETS
Boy, my boy, it is lonely in the city,
Days that have no pity and the nights without a tear
Follow all too slowly and I can no more dissemble;
I am frightened and I tremble—and I would that you were here.
Oh boy—God keep you.
Boy, my boy, I had sworn to weep no longer.
Time I thought was stronger than the evenings long gone by;
The ardent looks, the eager hands, the whispers hot and hurried—
But they all come back unburied and not one of them will die.
Oh boy—God save you.