Mildred, grown so used to waiting, felt half startled by the letter
That now made her future certain, and would consecrate her past.

And he came: grown sterner, older--changed indeed: a grave reliance
Had replaced his eager manner, and the quick short speech of old:
He had gone forth with a spirit half of hope and half defiance;
He returned with proud assurance half disdainful and half cold.

Yet his old self seemed returning while he stood sometimes, and listened
To her calm soft voice, relating all the thoughts of these long years;
And if Mildred's heart was heavy, and at times her blue eyes glistened,
Still in thought she would not whisper aught of sorrow or of fears.

Autumn with its golden corn-fields, autumn with its storms and showers,
Had been there to greet his coming with its forests gold and brown;
And the last leaves still were falling, fading still the year's last
flowers,
When he left the quiet village, and took back his bride to town.

Home--the home that she had pictured many a time in twilight, dwelling
On that tender gentle fancy, folded round with loving care;
Here was home--the end, the haven; and what spirit voice seemed telling,
That she only held the casket, with the gem no longer there?

Sad it may be to be longing, with a patience faint and weary,
For a hope deferred--and sadder still to see it fade and fall;
Yet to grasp the thing we long for, and, with sorrow sick and dreary,
Then to find how it can fail us, is the saddest pain of all.

What was wanting? He was gentle, kind, and generous still, deferring