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!