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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
A REMEMBRANCE.
I know a dear dwelling, that's fairer to me
Than the silk-hung saloons of a palace could be.
Oh! goldenly round it, the sunbeams steal through
The dark cluster'd leaves of the graceful jallou;
And acacias wave softly their light tassels there;
And blooming catalpas pour balm on the air.
Than the silk-hung saloons of a palace could be.
Oh! goldenly round it, the sunbeams steal through
The dark cluster'd leaves of the graceful jallou;
And acacias wave softly their light tassels there;
And blooming catalpas pour balm on the air.
And grape vines are wreathing o'er soft purple bloom,
And happy flowers breathing a priceless perfume.
Beneath in the valley, where blue waters gleam,
The boat's wingéd beauty glides by, like a dream;
And cool mid that foliage the pure breezes blow,
While the city lies basking in sunshine below.
And happy flowers breathing a priceless perfume.
Beneath in the valley, where blue waters gleam,
The boat's wingéd beauty glides by, like a dream;
76
While the city lies basking in sunshine below.
And a gush of glad music is sure to be heard,
In each pause of our converse, from breeze or from bird:
But not for the sunlight, and not for the shade,
And not for the picture that nature has made;
Nor the gleam of the wave, nor the blossom's perfume,
Nor the gay notes that glide from the leaves' lovely gloom;
In each pause of our converse, from breeze or from bird:
But not for the sunlight, and not for the shade,
And not for the picture that nature has made;
Nor the gleam of the wave, nor the blossom's perfume,
Nor the gay notes that glide from the leaves' lovely gloom;
Not for these does my spirit return to that spot,
With a love that is never foregone or forgot!
Warm hearts in that dwelling beat kindly for me;
They shared in my sorrow, they gladden'd my glee;
When the cold cloud of care o'er my wayward heart lay,
A voice that I love sang the shadow away.
With a love that is never foregone or forgot!
Warm hearts in that dwelling beat kindly for me;
They shared in my sorrow, they gladden'd my glee;
When the cold cloud of care o'er my wayward heart lay,
A voice that I love sang the shadow away.
Ah! whether in sunshine or whether in shade,
Wherever the wanderer's way may be made,
The picture of beauty affection has traced,
On memory's pages, shall ne'er be effaced;
But still will her spirit return to that spot,
With a love that is never foregone or forgot!
Wherever the wanderer's way may be made,
The picture of beauty affection has traced,
On memory's pages, shall ne'er be effaced;
But still will her spirit return to that spot,
With a love that is never foregone or forgot!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |