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The Winters are so short –
I’m hardly justified
In sending all the Birds away –
And moving into Pod –
Myself — for scarcely settled –
The Phoebes have begun –
And then — it’s time to strike my Tent –
And open House — again –
It’s mostly, interruptions –
My Summer — is despoiled –
Because there was a Winter — once –
And all the Cattle — starved –
And so there was a Deluge –
And swept the World away –
But Ararat’s a Legend — now –
And no one credits Noah –
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‘Twas the old — road — through pain –
That unfrequented — one –
With many a turn — and thorn –
That stops — at Heaven –
This — was the Town — she passed –
There — where she — rested — last –
Then — stepped more fast –
The little tracks — close prest –
Then — not so swift –
Slow — slow — as feet did weary — grow –
Then — stopped — no other track!
Wait! Look! Her little Book –
The leaf — at love — turned back –
Her very Hat –
And this worn shoe just fits the track –
Herself — though — fled!
Another bed — a short one –
Women make — tonight –
In Chambers bright –
Too out of sight — though –
For our hoarse Good Night –
To touch her Head!
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