Dora Sigerson Shorter

“ When will you come home, wild geese, with your thousand strong?
(The wolf-dog loud in the silence of night howls on.)
Not the fierce wind can stay your return or tumultuous sea,
for the freedom France gives to your feet on her luxuriant shore.
No smiles for your love like the tears of your sorrowing land,
Only Death in his reaping could make you return no more.
White birds, white birds, I dream of that glad homecoming;
Though human eyes could not mark your silent flight,
Women lie face down with clenched hands in the sea. ”

“ THE FLIGHT OF THE WILD GEESE.
Wrapt in the darkness of the night,
Gathering in silence on the shore,
Wild geese flown from hiding on the hills
(Hark! the wolf-hound; thrice he howled before) ,
Wild geese with forest leaves tangled in their hair.
Is that blood on the heaving breasts of some.
Or dull red clay from fox-deserted lair?
Why thus so stealthy do they come?
Wild geese, women’s arms round you in the darkness;
Women’s hearts forbid to cry though they break;
Little children must not sob in their kissing ”