 | [Poems by Piatt in] Poems of two friends |  |
75
THE LETTER CHEST.
You ask, if haply gems be there?
Gems from the heart's deep mine!
Glad friendships gathered long ago—
The grave of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Familiar hands, clasped far, but warm,
Clasp there, o'er desert years apart;
Old words familiar faces wear—
Old autographs of heart!
Gems from the heart's deep mine!
Glad friendships gathered long ago—
The grave of “Auld Lang Syne.”
Familiar hands, clasped far, but warm,
Clasp there, o'er desert years apart;
Old words familiar faces wear—
Old autographs of heart!
No! fling them not into the flames!
Dim, old words, crumbling one by one,
Would start, like ghosts, into our eyes—
Some Memory's dying Sun!
Kindle within our hearts their flame!
Feeling their dreamy eloquence,
The Past—whose flowers in these were sown—
Will rise like frankincense!
Dim, old words, crumbling one by one,
Would start, like ghosts, into our eyes—
Some Memory's dying Sun!
Kindle within our hearts their flame!
Feeling their dreamy eloquence,
The Past—whose flowers in these were sown—
Will rise like frankincense!
The world, in them, turns ever new;
Dead summers live in flowers, and sing;
Old June-lands show their roses through—
Heaven breathes the older Spring!
Those dear old words! they kept glad time
In sunny days, and rainy weather,
And to the music of their feet
Still, all things sing together!
Dead summers live in flowers, and sing;
Old June-lands show their roses through—
Heaven breathes the older Spring!
76
In sunny days, and rainy weather,
And to the music of their feet
Still, all things sing together!
Old lips that speak no more, I hear;
Old vanished faces, brightening come;
Old footsteps travel strangely near
From happy doors of Home!
I feel the red blood of the Past
Pulse through Time's veins again, in light,
I see their warm hands, from their hearts,
Extended while they write!
Old vanished faces, brightening come;
Old footsteps travel strangely near
From happy doors of Home!
I feel the red blood of the Past
Pulse through Time's veins again, in light,
I see their warm hands, from their hearts,
Extended while they write!
| [Poems by Piatt in] Poems of two friends | |