Explore "The Mother" by Theodosia Pickrering Garrison on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
So quietly I seem to sit apart; / I think she does not know or guess at all, / How dear this certain hour to my old heart, / When in our quiet street the shadows fall.
She leans and listens at the little gate. / I sit so still, not any eye might see / How watchfully before her there I wait / For that one step that brings my world to me.
She does not know that long before they meet / (So eagerly must go a love athirst), / My heart outstrips the flying of her feet, / And meets and greets him first -- and greets him first.