News for Her Mother

I

&nbsp One mile more is
&nbsp Where your door is
&nbsp       &nbsp Mother mine! -
&nbsp Harvest's coming,
&nbsp Mills are strumming,
&nbsp       &nbsp Apples fine,
And the cider made to-year will be as wine.

II

&nbsp Yet, not viewing
&nbsp What's a-doing
&nbsp       &nbsp Here around
&nbsp Is it thrills me,
&nbsp And so fills me
&nbsp       &nbsp That I bound
Like a ball or leaf or lamb along the ground.

III

&nbsp Tremble not now
&nbsp At your lot now,
&nbsp       &nbsp Silly soul!
&nbsp Hosts have sped them
&nbsp Quick to wed them,
&nbsp       &nbsp Great and small,
Since the first two sighing half-hearts made a whole.

IV

&nbsp Yet I wonder,
&nbsp Will it sunder
&nbsp       &nbsp Her from me?
&nbsp Will she guess that
&nbsp I said "Yes,"—that
&nbsp       &nbsp His I'd be,
Ere I thought she might not see him as I see!

V

&nbsp Old brown gable,
&nbsp Granary, stable,
&nbsp       &nbsp Here you are!
&nbsp O my mother,
&nbsp Can another
&nbsp       &nbsp Ever bar
Mine from thy heart, make thy nearness seem afar?