Country Sentiment

DICKY.

        Mother

     Oh, what a heavy sigh!
       Dicky, are you ailing?

        Dicky

     Even by this fireside, mother,
       My heart is failing.

     To-night across the down,
       Whistling and jolly,
     I sauntered out from town
       With my stick of holly.

     Bounteous and cool from sea
       The wind was blowing,
     Cloud shadows under the moon
       Coming and going.

     I sang old roaring songs,
       Ran and leaped quick,
     And turned home by St. Swithin's
       Twirling my stick.

     And there as I was passing
       The churchyard gate
     An old man stopped me, "Dicky,
       You're walking late."

     I did not know the man,
       I grew afeared
     At his lean lolling jaw,
       His spreading beard.

     His garments old and musty,
       Of antique cut,
     His body very lean and bony,
       His eyes tight shut.

     Oh, even to tell it now
       My courage ebbs...
     His face was clay, mother,
       His beard, cobwebs.

     In that long horrid pause
       "Good-night," he said,
     Entered and clicked the gate,
       "Each to his bed."

        Mother

     Do not sigh or fear, Dicky,
       How is it right
     To grudge the dead their ghostly dark
       And wan moonlight?

     We have the glorious sun,
       Lamp and fireside.
     Grudge not the dead their moonshine
       When abroad they ride.