Dear child, you will be well again!"
Again the marvellous days are here;
Warm on my cheek the sunshine burns,
And fledged birds chirp, and far and near
Floats the strange sweetness of the ferns.
But down these ways I walk alone,
Tearless, companionless, and dumb,—
Or rest upon this way-side stone,
To wait for one who does not come.
Yet all is even as I foretold: