DEAR MOTHER, When the Coach rolled off From dear old Battery Place I hid my face within my hands— That is, I hid my face. Tom says (@3he's leaning over me!@1) T'was on his shoulder, too; But, oh, I pray you will believe I wept to part from You. And when we rattled up Broadway I wept to leave the Scene Familiar to my happy Youth (I did love Bowling Green). I wept at Slidell's Chandlery To see the smoak arise— 'Twas only at the City Hall Tom bade me wipe my Eyes. By Mr. Niblo's Garden, where You would not let me go, We went, and travell'd up the Hill— So fast, and yet so slow! And so we left behind the Town And ere the Sun had set We reached the Inn at Tubby Hook— @3We have not left it yet!@1 I know that we are very Wrong— Dear Mother, pray forgive! From Sun to Sun 'tis all so sweet— It seems so sweet to Live! I know the things we meant to do, The road we vowed to go, But Tom and I are here, and—oh, Dear Mother, @3do@1 you know? We have not gone to Uncle John's, Though Yonkers is so near— We never shall see Cousin Van At Tarrytown, I fear. Our Peekskill friends, the Fishkill folk, And all the waiting rest— Tom bids me tell you they may wait— (He says they may be Blest). I know 'tis ill to linger here Hid in this woodland Inn, When all along Queen Anne's broad road Await our Friends and Kin; But, Dear Mama (when I was small You let me call you so), 'T is such Felicity and Joy With Him, Here! Do you know? YOUR ISABEL. P. S.—Tom sends his love. Please write, @3"I know."@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ROAST LEVIATHAN by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE MAIZE by WILLIAM WHITEMAN FOSDICK GLADYS AND HER ISLAND; AN IMPERFECT TALE WITH DOUBTFUL MORAL by JEAN INGELOW THE SHEPHERD'S SONG: A CAROL OR HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS by EDMUND BOLTON HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 8 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |