Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life Connecticut River reeds blown by the "Peasant Bard" |
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A MOTHER'S LAMENT. |
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 | Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life |  |
A MOTHER'S LAMENT.
'Twas when the rye was in the blow,
And Summer's breath was sweet,
My baby from my arms did go,
The Lord of love to meet.
And Summer's breath was sweet,
My baby from my arms did go,
The Lord of love to meet.
Again the rye is in the blow,
The clover bloom is sweet;
But fairer flower than June can show,
Is dust beneath my feet.
The clover bloom is sweet;
But fairer flower than June can show,
Is dust beneath my feet.
Again the sheltering maples fling
Their shadows round my door;
Again the social warblers sing
As cheerly as before.
Their shadows round my door;
Again the social warblers sing
As cheerly as before.
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How beauteous once to me the bough!
How welcome once its shade!
But deeper shadow wraps me now,
Than e'er the maples made.
How welcome once its shade!
But deeper shadow wraps me now,
Than e'er the maples made.
Still swings the bird her hammock there,
So happy with her own;
Ah me! I once her song could share,
But my dear nestling 's flown.
So happy with her own;
Ah me! I once her song could share,
But my dear nestling 's flown.
The gloaming shadows tint the vale,
The sober moon I see,
And lonely sounds the piping quail
Out on the darkening lea,
The sober moon I see,
And lonely sounds the piping quail
Out on the darkening lea,
There's something gone, I do not see;
Lost, that I cannot find;
To me a mournful melody
Sounds in the voiceful wind.
Lost, that I cannot find;
To me a mournful melody
Sounds in the voiceful wind.
Why, memory, wilt thou evoke
Sweet phantoms from the past?
O, why! to vanish like the smoke,
Swift fleeting in the blast.
Sweet phantoms from the past?
O, why! to vanish like the smoke,
Swift fleeting in the blast.
| Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life | |