[Poems by Whitman in] The ladies' wreath a selection from the female poetic writers of England and America |
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RETROSPECTION. |
 | [Poems by Whitman in] The ladies' wreath |  |
RETROSPECTION.
My heart is in my childhood's home,
And by the far-off sunny braes,
Where, musing, once I loved to roam,
In early youth's romantic days.
And by the far-off sunny braes,
Where, musing, once I loved to roam,
In early youth's romantic days.
The past—the past—the dreamy past,
Called up by memory's magic wand,
Gleams through the halo round it cast,
Bright as e'en hope's own phantom land.
Called up by memory's magic wand,
Gleams through the halo round it cast,
Bright as e'en hope's own phantom land.
Oh never more in after life
Can hope itself such dreams impart
As then, with breathing beauty rife,
Wreathed their soft spells around my heart.
Can hope itself such dreams impart
As then, with breathing beauty rife,
Wreathed their soft spells around my heart.
The skies were brighter then, than now,
More bland the wandering breezes blew,
The birds sang sweeter on the bough,
The wild flowers wore a richer hue.
More bland the wandering breezes blew,
The birds sang sweeter on the bough,
The wild flowers wore a richer hue.
Ideal forms of classic lore,
By moss-grown grot and crystal well,
Seemed still to linger as of yore,
And fairies danced in every dell.
By moss-grown grot and crystal well,
Seemed still to linger as of yore,
And fairies danced in every dell.
Blither than Elf-land's fabled queen,
I loved the green and laughing earth;
While wooded cliff and wild ravine,
Were echoing to my bosom's mirth.
I loved the green and laughing earth;
360
Were echoing to my bosom's mirth.
For care had never dimm'd my brow,
Nor friends proved heartless and untrue;
I ne'er had wept love's broken vow,
Nor aught of life's dark changes knew.
Nor friends proved heartless and untrue;
I ne'er had wept love's broken vow,
Nor aught of life's dark changes knew.
Farewell, sweet scenes of past delight!
Slowly ye sink from memory's gaze,
Still beaming with reflected light,
As bathed in twilight's parting rays.
Slowly ye sink from memory's gaze,
Still beaming with reflected light,
As bathed in twilight's parting rays.
I wander on my weary way,
Unmindful where my lot is cast,
Since wheresoe'er my footsteps stray,
They cannot lead me to the past.
Unmindful where my lot is cast,
Since wheresoe'er my footsteps stray,
They cannot lead me to the past.
| [Poems by Whitman in] The ladies' wreath | |