Poems (Howard)/Missed

by Hattie Howard

Missed.

Untenanted their mansion stands,
 Bereft of every trace
Of those whose dextrous, facile hands,
Could so control unwieldy plans,
 And things dispose in place.

All through these Indian Summer days,
 Upon the terrace lie
The mellow sunlight's golden rays,
That flash athwart the dreamy haze
 Beneath the Autumn sky.

Before the portal, where no feet
 Disturb the leaves, all sere,
We pause, and half expect to greet
The loving friends we used to meet—
 Alas! they are not here.

We miss them ever, just the same
 As when they went away,
And just as fondly breathe their name
As neighbors gather and exclaim:
 "Would they were here to-day!"

In social cheer, and labor wrought
 We recognize the lack
Of aid and sympathy, and naught
Can dissipate the hopeful thought
 That they will yet—come back.

A thousand things suggest the sense
 Of our unworthiness
To be the blest recipients
Of love, whose sweet munificence
 Conferred such happiness.

O will they not forgive, wherein
 We may have done amiss,
And place, against regretted sin,
The wish we had more faithful been,
 And but remember this?

That, though by careless act or word
 Unguarded and undue,
In human frailty we have erred
And oft their tender anguish stirred,
 Our hearts were always true.

Unto that far-off home to-night
 Is wafted many a thought,
By those directed in its flight
Whom they have sought to guide aright,
 And who forget them not.
November, 1884.