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
A Quiet House
By Mary Ainge De Vere (Madeline Bridges)M
All day I hear the ticking clock;
The hours are numbered; clear and shrill
Outside the robins chirp and trill:
My house is quiet now—so still!
And waiting yearn for call or knock,
To hear the creaking of the gate
And footsteps coming, soon or late:
The silence breaks my heart. I wait.
From hall to hall, from room to room;
The heavy shadows spread and grow,
The startled echoes mock me so,
As through the empty house I go.
Sweet noises in the tranquil gloom,
The joyous tumult, loud and near,
That vexed me many a happy year,—
Ah, silent house, if I could hear!
My longing eyes might see the stain
Of little foot-prints on the floor—
The sweet child-faces at the door—
Ah, blessed Heaven, but once, once more!
I watch the sunshine and the rain:
The years go on … Perhaps Death will
Life’s broken promises fulfil.
My house, my home, my heart, are still!