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Waiting.
He stands all day by the paddock rail,
With downcast head, and drooping tail,
And he looks across to the stable door,
And waits for a step that will come no more.
The clover blossoms, so faint and sweet,
Lift wooing faces about his feet,
And the tall grass sways in the gentle breeze,
But I do not think he even sees,
And the cloudless blue of the summer skies
Finds only shadow within his eyes.
When the sun has climbed to his sapphire dome,
And pauses, turning his face towards home,
You will see this lonely watcher turn,
With lifted ears and eyes that burn,
You will see him toss an impatient mane,
And quiver with eager hope again,
You will hear in his sudden deep-toned neigh,
"Surely, ah! surely he'll come to-day!"
But the hours drag by, and the shadows fall,
And nobody ever comes at all.
The browsing cattle, fat and sleek,
Find luscious pasture beside the creek,
They neither understand nor share
This exile's longing and despair.
With downcast head, and drooping tail,
And he looks across to the stable door,
And waits for a step that will come no more.
The clover blossoms, so faint and sweet,
Lift wooing faces about his feet,
And the tall grass sways in the gentle breeze,
But I do not think he even sees,
And the cloudless blue of the summer skies
Finds only shadow within his eyes.
When the sun has climbed to his sapphire dome,
And pauses, turning his face towards home,
You will see this lonely watcher turn,
With lifted ears and eyes that burn,
You will see him toss an impatient mane,
And quiver with eager hope again,
You will hear in his sudden deep-toned neigh,
"Surely, ah! surely he'll come to-day!"
But the hours drag by, and the shadows fall,
And nobody ever comes at all.
The browsing cattle, fat and sleek,
Find luscious pasture beside the creek,
They neither understand nor share
This exile's longing and despair.
