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Excerpt from Maurine and Other Poems
I sat and sewed, and sang some tender tune, Oh, beauteous was that morn in early June! Mellow with sunlight, and with blossoms fair The climbing rose-tree grew about me there, And checked with shade the sunny portico Where, morns like this, I came to read, or sew.
I heard the gate click, and a firm quick tread Upon the walk. -no need to turn my head; I would mistake, and doubt my own voice sounding. Before his step upon the gravel bounding.
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