A Song of Peace.
Not sad, nor yet keyed to mirth;
But a household lay, in a soothing voice,
As the cricket sings on the hearth.
No loud high-soaring strains,
When body and brain are spent;
But I long to listen, with half-shut lids,
To a song of sweet content.
Let the notes drop from your lips
Like summer rain from the eaves,
Or the dreamy tinkle of far-off bells
That comes through whispering leaves.
Let me hold your hand a while___
Your hand so firm and fine;
Its soft, warm clasp is a touch of peace,
And its pulses shall quiet mine.
Sing on, so soft and low;
Dispelled by the soothing strain,
Gone the heat from my throbbing brow,
And the ache from heart and brain.
Sing on; your breath at my cheek,
Your hands still clasping mine;
Your voice, and your touch, my household bird,
Are sweeter and better than mine.
__Ellen P. Allerton.
Walls of Corn and Other Poems
Ellen P. Allerton
(Hiawatha, KS: Harrington Printing Company. 1894)