 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
TO MARY.
Oh, will affection's tendrils twine
About that summer-time for aye,
When, midway 'twixt thy home and mine
The quiet village churchyard lay!—
With stars beginning to ascend,
The nighthawks scooping through the air—
Dost thou remember, oh, my friend,
How often we have parted there?
About that summer-time for aye,
When, midway 'twixt thy home and mine
The quiet village churchyard lay!—
With stars beginning to ascend,
The nighthawks scooping through the air—
Dost thou remember, oh, my friend,
How often we have parted there?
That summer was a sunlit sea,
Reflecting neither cloud nor frown,
Yet in its bright wave noiselessly
Some ventures of the heart went down;
Blest be the one that still outrides
The silent but tumultuous strife
Of hopes and fears, the heaving tides,
That beat against the shore of life!
Reflecting neither cloud nor frown,
Yet in its bright wave noiselessly
Some ventures of the heart went down;
Blest be the one that still outrides
The silent but tumultuous strife
Of hopes and fears, the heaving tides,
That beat against the shore of life!
The flowers run wild that used to be
So softly tended by thy hand—
Colors of beauty struck at sea,
And drifted backward to the land;
Breathing of havens whence we sailed,
Visions of lovelight seen and fled,
Swift barks of gladness met and hailed,
Of beacon fires, and land ahead!
So softly tended by thy hand—
Colors of beauty struck at sea,
And drifted backward to the land;
Breathing of havens whence we sailed,
Visions of lovelight seen and fled,
Swift barks of gladness met and hailed,
Of beacon fires, and land ahead!
To-night, sweet friend, the light and shade
Are trembling softly in my heart;
A hush upon my soul is laid—
Our paths henceforth must lie apart;
In the dim chamber where I sit,
Fears, hopes, and memories rise and blend,
Like cloud wastes with the sunshine lit—
Only with them art thou, my friend!
Are trembling softly in my heart;
A hush upon my soul is laid—
Our paths henceforth must lie apart;
In the dim chamber where I sit,
Fears, hopes, and memories rise and blend,
Like cloud wastes with the sunshine lit—
Only with them art thou, my friend!
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |