University of Virginia Library

While my footsteps rustle slow
Fallen leaves of long ago,
In my heart they rise to-night,
Far-off mornings blest and bright!
When the weary week at rest
Slept upon the Sabbath's breast,
(As a mortal orphan weeping
To an angel's bosom creeping).
All their sunshine from the Past
Through these twilight leaves is cast:
From the June-green boughs above
Flutters out the startled dove,
Or in sweet contented mood
Fills the Sabbath neighborhood.
Looking at the sun, so bright,
Flutter and hide the leaves in light;
Everywhere the birds are singing!
Suddenly a bell is ringing,
While I wander here apart:
'Tis the Past rings in my heart!
Years have walked this pathway old
Under green and over gold—
In their graves these years are gone
With the leaves they trod upon—
Vanished years: and every one
Walked with me in shade and sun,
Under clouds, through rainbows bright,
Nights made day and days made night:
Joys that leafed my heart with May
Rustle round my lonely way—
Fallen leaves my footsteps start:
Their bright trees grew in my heart!

Boys that kissed the Houris then,
Wandered—wandering, weary men!
Maidens blithe and bright and fair,
Guests of beauty to the air,
Dreams were cradled in their eyes:
Eves—we came from Paradise!
To the chapel clothed in white—
Roses—white the bridal train:
To the chapel clothed in white—
Lilies—black the funeral train!
Sad and glad and grave and gay
Years have walked with all away;
From the paths that blessed their feet,
Blessing dust and dewing heat;
From the folded dream of beauty,
Open rose of Woman' duty;
For the path with dew impearled,
Dusty street of the wide world!

Through the Church-path often they
Wander, girls in girlhood's May:
Through their hearts and eyes a-dreaming,
Eden-vistas strangely gleaming;
Smiles that open brighter skies—
Tears go back to Paradise!

Ah, the sunny time departs:
Weary hands and weary hearts!
Through the world they beat their way,
Dreaming golden, growing gray;
Lose the rose-wreath, lose the rhyme,
Giving weary hands to Time—
Weary tears to days of sorrow,
Weary smiles to clouded morrow.
Only when the flame crawls low
In the embers—ashes slow—
From the girl and from the boy,
Memory gleans fresh sheaves of joy!

If to all whose prints are here
All that Past could reappear—
If the weary feet could turn
From the valleys dark and dern—
If the desert eyes no more
On the Sphinx's face would pore—
If the lips that thirst in vain
Youth's enchanted draught could drain—
If once more old faces sweet
Here could blossom—here could beat
Hearts (a hearse and funeral train)
Blithe in this old Path again—
What a dusty company
Would go down—in Memory!
Hearts of girls and hearts of boys,
Emptying graves of Hopes and Joys!

In the silence—in the chill
Of the autumnal evening still—
Through the golden evenfall—
While the year is 'neath the pall
Of the fallen, falling leaves,
And the breeze, that, sighing, heaves,
Knows a spirit—here I tread,
Lone with Memory's risen dead,
While my footsteps startle slow
Ghost-like leaves of long ago:
Ghost-like memories seem to be
Shrouded, as they come to me.
From Life's busy graves they fill,
And from those green, low, and still
(Yonder gleaming where the breeze
Shivers with moonrise through the trees;
Graves that names remembered keep:
There—alas! but names—they sleep):
Memories leave those days of gold,
Angels, in the Church path old!