Classic Poem

What was the thought in his heart
As he climbed the last stiff brae,
Climbed the brae to his home,
Climbed to his empty home,
Through the dour and drizzling gloam
Of the winter day?

What was the thought in his heart
As he paused for a breathing while,
Paused for a breath at the door,
The weathered familiar door,
She never would open more
With a welcoming smile?

What was the thought in his heart
As he lay in the lonely bed,
Knowing that under the clay,
The valley churchyard clay,
Forlorn and comfortless lay
That golden head?

He thought of her, lying at peace—
Lying at last at rest,
At rest from the harrowing pain,
The searching pitiless pain
That never could touch her again—
At peace in his breast.