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 | The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton |  |
76
ANNIE'S DAUGHTER.
The lingering charm of a dream that has fled,
The rose's breath when the rose is dead,
The echo that lives when the tune is done,
The sunset glories that follow the sun,
Every thing tender and every thing fair
That was, and is not, and yet is there,—
I think of them all when I look in these eyes,
And see the old smile to the young lips rise.
The rose's breath when the rose is dead,
The echo that lives when the tune is done,
The sunset glories that follow the sun,
Every thing tender and every thing fair
That was, and is not, and yet is there,—
I think of them all when I look in these eyes,
And see the old smile to the young lips rise.
I remember the lilacs, all purple and white,
And the turf at the feet of my heart's delight,
Sprinkled with daisies and violets sweet—
Daintiest floor for the daintiest feet—
And the face that was fond, and foolish, and fair.
And the golden grace of the floating hair,
And the lips where the glad smiles came and went,
And the lashes that shaded the eyes' content.
And the turf at the feet of my heart's delight,
Sprinkled with daisies and violets sweet—
Daintiest floor for the daintiest feet—
And the face that was fond, and foolish, and fair.
And the golden grace of the floating hair,
And the lips where the glad smiles came and went,
And the lashes that shaded the eyes' content.
I remember the pledge of the red young lips
And the shy, soft touch of the finger-tips,
And the kisses I stole, and the words we spoke,
And the ring I gave, and the coin we broke,
And the love that never should change or fail
Though the earth stood still or the stars turned pale;
And again I stand, when I see these eyes,
A glad young Fool, in my Paradise.
And the shy, soft touch of the finger-tips,
And the kisses I stole, and the words we spoke,
And the ring I gave, and the coin we broke,
77
Though the earth stood still or the stars turned pale;
And again I stand, when I see these eyes,
A glad young Fool, in my Paradise.
For the earth and the stars remained as of old,
But the love that had been so warm grew cold.
Was it She? Was it I?—I don't remember:
Then it was June,—it is now December.
But again I dream the old dream over,
My Annie is young, and I am her lover
When I look in this Annie's gentle eyes
And see the old smile to the young lips rise.
But the love that had been so warm grew cold.
Was it She? Was it I?—I don't remember:
Then it was June,—it is now December.
But again I dream the old dream over,
My Annie is young, and I am her lover
When I look in this Annie's gentle eyes
And see the old smile to the young lips rise.
| The poems and sonnets of Louise Chandler Moulton | |