Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
 |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
TO ELLEN AUGUSTA HUNT IN ALABAMA |
|
 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
TO ELLEN AUGUSTA HUNT IN ALABAMA
The balmy airs of the South Land
Are stirring the locks on thy brow,
The perfumed scent of her orange groves
Meet fragrance for such as thou.
Are stirring the locks on thy brow,
The perfumed scent of her orange groves
Meet fragrance for such as thou.
Hath the sunny South Land a charm, Nelly,
To lure thy longer stay,
From her velvet turf and magnolia breath
Dost thou shrink to turn away?
To lure thy longer stay,
From her velvet turf and magnolia breath
Dost thou shrink to turn away?
139
Our skies are leaden and gray, Ellen,
Our winds are fierce and wild,
And ghostly and cold are the mountain snows,
Which they in their fury piled.
Our winds are fierce and wild,
And ghostly and cold are the mountain snows,
Which they in their fury piled.
But the hearts are warm and true, Nelly,
That are beating in love for thee,
That are keeping time to thy morning song,
Wherever its warblings be.
That are beating in love for thee,
That are keeping time to thy morning song,
Wherever its warblings be.
And the void which thy going left, Nelly,
On that chill November morn,
Is a void to-day and to-night, my love,
The merry-voiced Spring is born.
On that chill November morn,
Is a void to-day and to-night, my love,
The merry-voiced Spring is born.
A light went out on the hearthstone,
A tint from the blue of the sky,
A tone from the voice of singing
Full only when you were by.
A tint from the blue of the sky,
A tone from the voice of singing
Full only when you were by.
A sense of what might but is not,
A dreamy and vague unrest,
A longing, and waiting, and watching,
These were thy parting behest.
A dreamy and vague unrest,
A longing, and waiting, and watching,
These were thy parting behest.
But our hills shall be crowned with greenness,
Our roses shall flush in the sun,
Come home, come home, O, fairer than they,
That the Spring be indeed begun.
Our roses shall flush in the sun,
Come home, come home, O, fairer than they,
That the Spring be indeed begun.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |