54688: Home [1]

<p dir="ltr"> Fair was the morning, fair our tempers, and<br> We had seen nothing fairer than that land,<br> Though strange, and the untrodden snow that made<br> Wild of the tame, casting out all that was<br> Not wild and rustic and old; and we were glad.<br> Fair too was afternoon, and first to pass<br> Were we that league of snow, next the north wind.<br> There was nothing to return for, except need,<br> And yet we sang nor ever stopped for speed,<br> As we did often with the start behind.<br> Faster still strode we when we came in sight<br> Of the cold roofs where we must spend the night.<br> Happy we had not been there, nor could be,<br> Though we had tasted sleep and food and fellowship<br> Together long.<br> 'How quick', to someone's lip<br> The words came, 'will the beaten horse run home!'<br> The word 'home' raised a smile in us all three,<br> And one repeated it, smiling just so<br> That all knew what he meant and none would say.<br> Between three counties far apart that lay<br> We were divided and looked strangely each<br> At the other, and we knew we were not friends<br> But fellows in a union that ends<br> With the necessity for it, as it ought.<br> Never a word was spoken, not a thought<br> Was thought, of what the look meant with the word<br> 'Home' as we walked and watched the sunset blurred.<br> And then to me the word, only the word,<br> 'Homesick', as it were playfully occurred:<br> No more.<br> If I should ever more admit<br> Than the mere word I could not endure it<br> For a day longer: this captivity<br> Must somehow come to an end, else I should be<br> Another man, as often now I seem,<br> Or this life be only an evil dream.<br></p>