The Poetry Corner

An April Dawn.

By Kate Seymour Maclean

All night a slow soft rain, A shadowy stranger from a cloudy land, Sighing and sobbing, with unsteady hand Beat at the lattice, ceased, and beat again, And fled like some wild startled thing pursued By demons of the night and solitude, Returning ever--wistful--timid--fain-- The intermittent rain. And still the sad hours crept Within uncounted, the while hopes and fears Swayed our full hearts, and overflowed in tears That fell in silence, as she waked or slept, Still drawing nearer to that unknown shore Whence foot of mortal cometh nevermore, And still the rain was as a pulse that kept Time as the slow hours crept. The plummet of the night Sank through the hollow dark that closed us round, A lamp lit globe of space; outside, the sound Of rain-drops falling from abysmal height To vast mysterious depths rose faint and far, Like a dull muffled echo from some star Swung, like our own, an orb of tears and light In the unheeding night. But when the April dawn Touched the closed lattice softly, and a bird, Too early wakened from its sleep, was stirred, And trilled a sudden note broke off, withdrawn, She heard and woke. All silently she laid Her gentle hands in ours, with such a look as made A rainbow of tears it fell upon, Caught from another and a heavenlier dawn, Fixed--trembled--and was gone. Swung, like our own, an orb of tears and light In the unheeding night. But when the April dawn Touched the closed lattice softly, and a bird, Too early wakened from its sleep, was stirred, And trilled a sudden note broke off, withdrawn, She heard and woke. All silently she laid Her gentle hands in ours, with such a look as made A rainbow of tears it fell upon, Caught from another and a heavenlier dawn, Fixed--trembled--and was gone.