Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from The Missive: A Dramatic Poem
Come, my Antigone; cease thy long sobs; Lay thy dear head upon my breast, my wife, As thou wast wont to do in the old days When thou and I were all in all; we two Who never thought a third would come with hands To hold our hearts within their tender clasp; Only to leave a void larger than death. Dost mind thee of that day he lisped a word, - The tender word oi Mother - and content He clasped his arms around thy neck, sinking His head within the soft curve of thy chin; And thou, supreme in thy young Motherhood Didst call. Theophilus, already he Has learned the trick of nestling close to me As I to thee! I wonder if he knows The heart-beats throbbing 'gainst his own, as I Do thine? - Come, lay thy head here now, - where thou Canst feel my pulses beating while I speak; For I have that to say which thou must hear!
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