The book of gold, and other poems . e brings the old craft like a ship to the window, mild grandmotherly eyesBeam from their glasses with quaint surprise,Grow wide with wonder, and guess, and doubt;Then a quick, half-stifled voice shrieks out,Tom! Toms come home! The face at the casement disappears,To shine at the door, all joy and tears,As a traveller, dusty and bearded and brown,Over the wheel steps lightly , mother! My son! And to his breastA forward-tottering form is lies there, and cries there; now at arms-lengthAdmires his manly size and strength(While he win
The book of gold, and other poems . e brings the old craft like a ship to the window, mild grandmotherly eyesBeam from their glasses with quaint surprise,Grow wide with wonder, and guess, and doubt;Then a quick, half-stifled voice shrieks out,Tom! Toms come home! The face at the casement disappears,To shine at the door, all joy and tears,As a traveller, dusty and bearded and brown,Over the wheel steps lightly , mother! My son! And to his breastA forward-tottering form is lies there, and cries there; now at arms-lengthAdmires his manly size and strength(While he winks hard one misty eye);Then calls to the youngsters staring nigh— Quick ! go for your granther! run, boys, run !Tell him your uncle—tell him his son—Our Toms come home! TOMS COME HOME. 65 The stage-coach waits; but little cares sheWhat faces pleasantly smile to seeHer jostled glasses and tumbled Georges hands the trunk unstrapAnd bear it in ; while two light-heeledYoung Mercuries fly to the mowing field, 6 i#v^) I x x. NOW AT ARMS-LENGTH ADMIRES HIS MANLY SIZE AND STRENGTH. And shriek and beckon, and meet half-wayThe old granther, lame, and gaunt, and gray,Coat on arm, half inN alarm,Striding over the stony farm. 5 66 TOMS COME HOME. The good news clears his cloudy face,And he cries, as he quickens his anxious pace,Tom? Tom come home? With twitching cheek and quivering lid(A soft heart under the hard lines hid),And Tom, how de do? in a husky voice,He grasps with rough, strong hand the boys—A boys no more. I shouldnt have knownThat beard. While Toms fine barytoneRolls out from his deep chest cheerily, Youre hale as ever, Im glad to the low back porch the mother stands,And rubs her glasses with trembling hands,And, smiling with eyes that blear and blink,Chimes in, I never! and Only think !Our Toms come home! With question and joke and anecdote, He brushes his hat, they dust his coat, While all the household gathers near— Tanned urchins, eager to see and h
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Keywords: ., bookauthorcharlesefeinbergcolle, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870
