University of Virginia Library

In my childhood's April days,
Ere I learned life's deeper meaning,—
When I walked in pleasant ways,
Flowers amid the brambles gleaning,—
While unspoiled by frost or blight
Was my heart's unshadowed centre,
And its fulness of delight
Left no room for grief to enter,—
When earth seemed a blissful clime,
Full of joy and pleasant duty,
And my pulse was beating time
To the songs of love and beauty,—
Fanciful—companionless,
Heart and brain with visions teeming—
Solitude and loneliness
Taught to me the art of dreaming.

Many a bright imagining,
Many a fair prophetic vision
Came on fancy's tireless wing,
Clad in hues almost elysian.
And my favorite dreaming-place
Was an old and shadowy forest;—
Oh, how oft in later days,
When my heart is throbbing sorest,
And life's burning desert-sand
Painfully my worn feet parches,
Think I of that fairy land,
With its cool and winding arches,
In the deep and fragrant shade
All unbrokenly enfolden,
Save when sportive winds which played
'Mid the forest monarchs olden,
Did the yielding branches woo
To and fro with gentle power,
And the sun-rays drifted through
In a dazzling golden shower.

Seldom by a human sound
Was the wood's deep quiet broken,
And the solitude profound
Gave of human life no token.
Nature, sabbath-like and calm
Smiling at her own completeness,
Breathing quietude and balm,
Sleeping in a trance of sweetness,
Did a mystic charm impart
To the dim and shadowy pleasance,
Seeming to my childish heart
Like a high majestic presence.
Very lovely was the wood
At the summer's early coming,
When the breathing solitude
Was one sweet and ceaseless humming;—
Then the maples, gnarled and old,
Veiled in moss, like ancient castles,
Did their rugged limbs enfold
In a robe of crimson tassels;—
Then a warmer, sunnier hue
Mingled with the pine's dark fringes,
And the green buds melted through
The dark hemlock's sombre tinges;
Then the willow's bending stems
Were with downy blossoms sprinkled,
And the winter-green's bright gems
In the bright leaves smiled and twinkled;
Then the snow-drop sought to hide,
Whence the winds their fragrance borrowed,
Like a young and bashful bride
With bright dew-pearls on her forehead;
And the timid violet
Sprang amid the mosses tender,
With its cup all dewy wet
Drooping on its stem so slender,—
Like a heart bereft of cheer,
O'er some hidden sorrow pining,
Smiling, even while a tear
In its veiléd depths enshrining.
Birds there were, a countless throng
Making in the wood their dwelling,
Breaking into fitful song
Tales of love and gladness telling;
There the joyous wood-lark sprung
From his nest, at morning's breaking,
Drops of dew, like pearls unstrung,
From his trembling pinions shaking,
And amid the birch-tree tops
Swinging, warbled, all a-quiver,
Notes like ringing shower-drops
On the bosom of a river;
Then the cuckoo timidly
Hidden in some lofty hollow,
Wove its sweet monotony
With the chirping of the swallow,—
And the bright-winged goldfinch came
Darting from the reedy meadows,
Glancing like a jet of flame,
In and out among the shadows,—
And the robin's merry song
Loud and mellow and sonōrous,
Echoed cheerily along
Mingling with the general chorus,—
With a throng of nameless birds,
Whose brief songs, abruptly ending,
Came like sweetly spoken words
In the pauses softly blending.
And when morning woke the earth
From its dim and quiet sleeping,
Then a strain of joy and mirth
From the wood went upward sweeping.
Scores of birds, the trees among,
Where the sun's first ray was burning,
Bursting into happy song,
Welcoming the day's returning,
Kept the echoes ringing round,
In a dance of tinkling changes,
As a wind-harp's varying sound
O'er the diapason ranges.

When the autumn's veil of mist,
O'er the earth was wide enfolden,
And the subtle alchemist
Changed the emerald leaves to golden,—
Then before the raptured eye
Shone a scene of wondrous splendor,
Matching even the rainbow's dye
With its hues so rich and tender;—
Though the daintiest blossoms drooped
At the autumn's chill advancing,
Still amid the dark leaves grouped
Were the clustered berries glancing,—
And the rugged autumn flowers
With their cheerful hardy faces,
Came like smiles in lonely hours,
Lighting up the gloomiest places.
Often in the autumn eves
To the wood my footsteps wandered,
And amid the falling leaves
Silent, sat I down and pondered
With a kind of childish awe
On the beauty round me beaming,
Till the night began to draw
Her dark curtains round my dreaming;
Or where danced the brook along
With a sound like childish laughter,
With an answering laugh and song,
I went gaily dancing after;
Pausing oft upon its brink,
Where the wild grapes gleamed most brightly,
And pale asters knelt to drink,
Kissing the cool waters lightly,—
Weaving garlands long and bright
Of the leaves around me straying,
Or in childhood's gay delight
With the shining pebbles playing.

Glimpses of the days to be,
Dreams of happiness and glory
Wove their bright spells over me
In that forest wild and hoary;—
And the sad mysterious sound
Which the wind was ever making
'Mid the swaying boughs around
Mournful echoings awaking,
In the distance, lone and drear,
With a solemn cadence sighing,
Fell upon my listening ear
Like a voice of prophecying;—
Though these dreamings fled away,
Fled with childhood's dim sweet morning,
Yet I think of them alway
As a sweet and slighted warning.

Thus, through all the genial hours,
While the wild brook frolicked gaily,
Through the forest's sylvan bowers
Went I to its margin daily,—
Till the autumn days grew brief,
And the lonesome winds were wailing,
And the last sere blighted leaf
From the lightened bough was sailing,—
Till the snow in sudden wrath,
Heralding the boisterous comer,
Quite obscured the little path
Worn so smoothly all the summer;—
And when freezing snow-drifts lay
Coldly on the earth's chill bosom,
Seemed to me that still alway
In the wood were bud and blossom,—
And that though the loud winds rung
Fiercely over vale and meadows,
Still the summer warblers sung
In the forest's fragrant shadows.
Those sweet days are with the past,—
Gone—whence there is no returning,
Yet with glances backward cast
Oft I find my spirit yearning
For those murmuring forest shades
Loved in long-ago existence,
Where the lofty cool arcades
Lost themselves in leafy distance.

I have wandered far since then,
Led by fate, or called by duty,
But I ne'er have looked again
On such scenes of wondrous beauty;—
Never since has note of bird
In the woodland or the meadows
Charmed me like the songs I heard
In the forest's whispering shadows;
Never more will flowers bloom
Half so brightly to my seeing,
Never yield so sweet perfume
As the ones which there had being.

Often since my cup of life,—
Robbed of its first sparkling glitter
By reality and strife,—
Has grown sadly dark and bitter,
Come the thoughts of those sweet hours
Spent by joy and I together,
Like the memory of flowers
In the frigid winter weather.