Classic Poem

I HEAR the curlew's lonesome call,
The cushat crooning in the tree—
The sunset shadow on the wall
Fades slowly off—come nearer me.

Sweet Mary, come and take my hand
And hold it close and kiss my cheek—
The tide is crawling up the sand—
O, Mary, sweetest sister, speak.

And say my fears are all untrue,
And say my heart has boded wrong—
How slow the light fades—never grew
A twilight half nor half so long.

And Mary smiling a sad smile,
Looked wistful out into the night,
Combing the sick girl's hair the while,
(Death-dampened) with her fingers white.

And still the curlew's lonesome call
Went on—the cushat wildly well,
Crooned in the tree, and on the wall
Darker and darker shadows fell.

How gustily the night-time falls!
Dear Mary, is the milking past?
And are the oxen in their stalls—
Hark! is't the rain that falls so fast?

Kneel softly down beside my bed—
(How terrible the storm will be,)
And say again the prayer you said
Last night; but Mary, not for me.

The cushat still went crooning on—
The curlew made her lonesome cry—
The sick girl fast asleep was gone—
That prayer had been her lullaby.