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POEMS BY CLARA A. MERRILL
To all who anxiously await Time slowly wears away; But at last—at last there came the eve Ere the eventful day. That night no sweet dreams came to him, No sleep his pillow sought; But listened he to every sound With nerves most tensely wrought.
And ere the sun's first rays arose To gild yon distant domes; And shed their radiance upon These fair North Buckfield homes Arose he from his downy couch— And with his gleaming spade Proceeded he to carry out The plans which he had made.
In silence marched he by Fred Heald's, Slow, stealthy as a mouse; With bated breath, on tiptoe went Past Celia Dunham's house Lest she or Fred should be awake And chance to hear his step,—And thus—with soft, and cat-like tread He past the school house crept
