Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
In Sorrow’s Hour
By Lizette Woodworth Reese (1856–1935)T
They make late April,—and the brier too
Buds its first rose for other folk than you;
In the deep grass the elder bush once more
Heaps its sweet snow; and the marsh-marigold
With its small fire sets all the sedge aflare;
Like flakes of flame blown down the gray, still air,
The cardinal-flower is out in thickets old.
Oh, love! oh, love! what road is yours to-day?
For I would follow after, see your face,
Put my hand in your hand, feel the dear grace
Of hair, mouth, eyes, hear the brave words you say.
The dark is void, and all the daylight vain.
Oh, that you were but here with me again!