THE BECKONING OUT

The coppers were gone from the old brown teapot, Gaunt sorrow and care were crowned kings of the spot, And the little old woman who knelt on the floor To blow up the ashes, was hoping no more. O the door was blown open and into the place A Winged Stranger came with a gay, handsome face And with two laughing eyes that looked out of his head Like some fair woman’s son, and, “Give over,” he said.

“Whist, Mother! give over. Come out in the light While the throstle’s astir, and the dawn is as bright As when, come forty years, you were up and away, With the dew to your feet, on the first morn o’ May. “Is it children you grieve for? I’ll be as your son For I’m old as the hills, yet a mother I’ve none. Is it shelter you wish for? I’ll find you a home like a cot in green valleys where no winters come.

“Do you grieve for the good things went out by the door? Now cross but the threshold, you’ll miss them no more, Or it may be the winds that run laughing with God Have but kept them awhile, or the sweet smelling sod. “Is it lonely you were? There’s a bird in your breast Was but spreading his wings; lone delight is his nest. There is never a tie could have kept him for long, I could lure him aloft with the lilt of a song!

“You have dreamed overmuch, as the old do alone When the fire is low, and the children have gone. But have done with the dreams, for to youth is the day; You are young again, Colleen! Come out in the May!”