 | Poems |  |
110
HERE.
When night comes brooding o'er me
Like a prison's dreary cell,
And its visions rise before me
With a dread no speech can tell;
When, alone with my only longing
And the darkening spell of fear,
I watch the sad stars thronging
Till the beams of dawn appear;
Then, like some silver chimes,
Come back the old, old times—
The dear old times, my darling,
The living, loving times!
Like a prison's dreary cell,
And its visions rise before me
With a dread no speech can tell;
When, alone with my only longing
And the darkening spell of fear,
I watch the sad stars thronging
Till the beams of dawn appear;
Then, like some silver chimes,
Come back the old, old times—
The dear old times, my darling,
The living, loving times!
Unsleeping, I remember
The days that all are gone,
Like June dreams in December,
Or flowers when summer's done;
The times that are never over,
For they live in heart and brain,
And, like kisses from a lover,
Their spell comes back again.
Like a song of magic rhymes,
Return the dear old times—
The old, old times, my darling,
The living, loving times!
The days that all are gone,
Like June dreams in December,
Or flowers when summer's done;
The times that are never over,
For they live in heart and brain,
And, like kisses from a lover,
Their spell comes back again.
Like a song of magic rhymes,
Return the dear old times—
The old, old times, my darling,
The living, loving times!
111
This is my lone life's treasure,
That none can take away—
Remembrance without measure
Of every vanished day,
Of love-light round me streaming,
Of tender lips and eyes;
Awake I lie, yet dreaming,
Nor sleep till day shall rise.
Like a bee in blossomed limes,
I live in those old times—
The times you know, my darling,
The living, loving times!
That none can take away—
Remembrance without measure
Of every vanished day,
Of love-light round me streaming,
Of tender lips and eyes;
Awake I lie, yet dreaming,
Nor sleep till day shall rise.
Like a bee in blossomed limes,
I live in those old times—
The times you know, my darling,
The living, loving times!
Cold are the skies above me,
The earth is wrapped in snow,
And if still, as then, you love me,
Alas! I cannot know—
Silence between us lying,
More chill than winter's cold,
And my heart like a baby crying
For its mother's wonted hold;
But I breathe the summer's prime
Remembering that old time,
Though you forget it, darling,
The living, loving time!
The earth is wrapped in snow,
And if still, as then, you love me,
Alas! I cannot know—
Silence between us lying,
More chill than winter's cold,
And my heart like a baby crying
For its mother's wonted hold;
But I breathe the summer's prime
Remembering that old time,
Though you forget it, darling,
The living, loving time!
| Poems | |