Mater Dolorosa

JUST as of yore the friendly rain   
 Patters its old and frank refrain;   
 Just as of yore the world swings by   
 The little window where I lie   
Watching the shadows wax and wane.         
  
I see, beyond the Aegean main,   
His cross upon the grave-scarred plain—   
 Yet still the dawn-flush climbs the sky,   
   Just as of yore!   

His cross—and mine! They try in vain           
With careful phrase to stanch the pain;   
 They say, ‘A hero’s death!’ But I   
 Long only for his footstep nigh;   
Long only for my boy again,   
   Just as of yore!