Childish foosteps, just behind her, <br />Softly patter on the green. <br />Back she glances; tears may blind her, <br />But no little one is seen. <br />Blanched, as by an ill appalling, <br />Home in terror hastens she, <br />While a baby voice is calling, <br />"Mother! mother! wait for me." <br /> <br />Phantom footsteps! hear them <br />falling (falling, falling), <br />falling (falling, falling) <br />Now, wherever she may be! <br />(hear footsteps falling!) <br />While a baby voice is <br />call- (calling, calling,) <br />-ing, (calling, calling,) <br />"Mother! mother! wait for me." <br /> <br />Sobbing still, but never lagging, <br />Soon she enters the gate, <br />And before her, on the flagging, <br />Sees the symbols of her fate: <br />Tiny shoeprints, plainly speaking <br />Of the salt and foamy sea. <br />Hark! was that the doorhinge creaking? <br />"Mother! mother! wait for me." <br /> <br />Half her night is spent in weeping, <br />Ere she can forget her cares: <br />Is there not an infant creeping-- <br />Creeping slowly up the stairs? <br />Venturing thither in her yearning, <br />Only shadows can she see; <br />But she hears the cry while turning, <br />"Mother! mother! wait for me."<br /><br />Henry Clay Work<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/phantom-footsteps/
