you rode from the range where your brothers “select,”
the ghostly grey bush in the dawn---
rode slowly at first, lest her heart should suspect
you were glad to be gone;
had scarcely the courage to glance back at her
the homestead receding from view,
you breathed with relief as you rounded the spur,
the world was a wide world to you.
eyes that grow sadder than sunset or rain,
heart that is ever more true
faith that grows firmer for watching in vain---
wait by the sliprails for you.
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