"Home"
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AIR was the morning, fair our tempers, andWe had seen nothing fairer than that land,Though strange, and the untrodden snow that madeWild of the tame, casting out all that wasNot wild and rustic and old; and we were glad. Fair, too, was afternoon, and first to passWere we that league of snow, next the north wind There was nothing to return for, except need,And yet we sang nor ever stopped for speed,As we did often with the start behind.Faster still strode we when we came in sightOf the cold roofs where we must spend the night.Happy we had not been there, nor could be.Though we had tasted sleep and food and fellowshipTogether long. "How quick" to someone's lipThe words came, "will the beaten horse run home." The word "home" raised a smile in us all three,And one repeated it, smiling just soThat all knew what he meant and none would say.Between three counties far apart that layWe were divided and looked strangely eachAt the other, and we knew we were not friendsBut fellows in a union that endsWith the necessity for it, as it ought. Never a word was spoken, not a thoughtWas thought, of what the look meant with the word"Home" as we walked and watched the sunset blurred.And then to me the word, only the word,"Homesick," as it were playfully occurred:No more. If I should ever more admitThan the mere word I could not endure itFor a day longer: this captivityMust somehow come to an end, else I should beAnother man, as often now I seem,Or this life be only an evil dream.
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