To Lady Wemyss <br /> <br /> <br />The boy will come no more <br />Although I listen and long; <br />The sound of his foot on the floor <br />Was like an old song. <br /> <br />His foot had the music in it, <br />And now the music's dumb -- <br />Like the song of the lark or linnet <br />Glad that Spring's come. <br /> <br />There's nothing stirring at all, -- <br />'Tis quiet all by yourself, -- <br />But a wee mouse in the wall, <br />The clock ticks on the shelf. <br /> <br />Like the song of the lark or linnet, <br />That's singing early and soon, <br />His foot had the music in it <br />Like an old tune.<br /><br />Katharine Tynan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-footstep/
