AN OLD SONG
And if I came not againAfter certain days;If no morning sun or rainMet me on their ways;If the meadows knew no moreHow my feet go free,And the folded hills forboreAny speech of me;If you did not find me here,At the door at night,And the cold hearth kept no cheer,And the panes no light;—Oh, if I came not again,Would you miss me much?Would your fingers once be fainOf my wandering touch?Would you dream me at your sideIn the waking wood,Where the old spring hungers hideIn blue solitude?Would you wonder where I passed,Into joy or pain?Oh, to know you cared, at last,Came I not again!Fannie Stearns Davis
And if I came not againAfter certain days;If no morning sun or rainMet me on their ways;If the meadows knew no moreHow my feet go free,And the folded hills forboreAny speech of me;If you did not find me here,At the door at night,And the cold hearth kept no cheer,And the panes no light;—Oh, if I came not again,Would you miss me much?Would your fingers once be fainOf my wandering touch?Would you dream me at your sideIn the waking wood,Where the old spring hungers hideIn blue solitude?Would you wonder where I passed,Into joy or pain?Oh, to know you cared, at last,Came I not again!Fannie Stearns Davis
And if I came not againAfter certain days;If no morning sun or rainMet me on their ways;
And if I came not again
After certain days;
If no morning sun or rain
Met me on their ways;
If the meadows knew no moreHow my feet go free,And the folded hills forboreAny speech of me;
If the meadows knew no more
How my feet go free,
And the folded hills forbore
Any speech of me;
If you did not find me here,At the door at night,And the cold hearth kept no cheer,And the panes no light;—
If you did not find me here,
At the door at night,
And the cold hearth kept no cheer,
And the panes no light;—
Oh, if I came not again,Would you miss me much?Would your fingers once be fainOf my wandering touch?
Oh, if I came not again,
Would you miss me much?
Would your fingers once be fain
Of my wandering touch?
Would you dream me at your sideIn the waking wood,Where the old spring hungers hideIn blue solitude?
Would you dream me at your side
In the waking wood,
Where the old spring hungers hide
In blue solitude?
Would you wonder where I passed,Into joy or pain?Oh, to know you cared, at last,Came I not again!
Would you wonder where I passed,
Into joy or pain?
Oh, to know you cared, at last,
Came I not again!
Fannie Stearns Davis