Classic Poem

He sits by the table, leaning
His head on his weary hand:
His eye has that gaze of meaning
That looks on a far-off land.

Brown locks with threads of silver,
A wrinkled brow of care,
A worn-out, age-bowed figure,
He sits in his old arm-chair.

In his toil-hard hand a letter
He held, and seemed to see;
But he saw not what he looked at,
As he nodded musingly.

For, as he gazed, a picture
Of the years to come passed by;
And the white envelope faded
From his future-reading eye.

But the letter and its meaning
Had conjured up his dream:
He saw a joyous wedding
Flit past with shadowy gleam.

But close behind the pageant
A cloud came, murk and dim,
Till, shutting out the sunlight,
It settled over him.

With darker edges brooding,
It closed around the home,
Where never more the children
At restful evening come.

Two will return, no, never!
His listening ear no more
Shall hear their echoing footfall
Sound through the open door.

And now the others leave him,
While turns his hair to gray,
And near the long hill's bottom
He takes his lonely way.

Roused now, through rooms forsaken
He walks with heavy sighs;
And, looking at the letter,
The tears are in his eyes.

He feels his dream a true one:
His last boy's wedding-day.
Is settled by the promise
This letter bears away.