 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
52
YESTERDAY.
An angel passed me yesterday,
With snowy wings and floating hair,
As slowly on my devious way
I went, in darkness and despair.
With snowy wings and floating hair,
As slowly on my devious way
I went, in darkness and despair.
Strange how my heart could be so cold
When that sweet angel-face was nigh!
I might have caught her robe's light fold
As airly it floated by,—
When that sweet angel-face was nigh!
I might have caught her robe's light fold
As airly it floated by,—
I might have kissed the sun-bright flow
Of curls across my forehead blown,
Or gazed upon the haloed brow
Whose radiance lighted up my own.
Of curls across my forehead blown,
Or gazed upon the haloed brow
Whose radiance lighted up my own.
And yet I stood in mute surprise
Till all the vision passed away,
Nor once upraised my dazzled eyes,
Nor oped my lips to whisper, “Stay!”
Till all the vision passed away,
Nor once upraised my dazzled eyes,
Nor oped my lips to whisper, “Stay!”
53
And slowly from my misty sight
Did the sweet visitant depart,—
The angel-guest whose presence might
Have re-illumed my darkened heart.
Did the sweet visitant depart,—
The angel-guest whose presence might
Have re-illumed my darkened heart.
But ah, its memory haunts me yet,—
And musing I can only say,
With starting tears of vain regret,
“An angel passed me yesterday!”
And musing I can only say,
With starting tears of vain regret,
“An angel passed me yesterday!”
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |