 | Songs in the Whirlwind |  |
ICHABOD.
A fallen chain of withered Autumn leaves
Drifts on forlorn, while silent mem'ry weaves
Strange figures in the mist
That decks with pearls the flowers the dewy eves
Have gently kissed.
Drifts on forlorn, while silent mem'ry weaves
Strange figures in the mist
That decks with pearls the flowers the dewy eves
Have gently kissed.
Unlifted silence weaves a magic spell
Of sweet sad dreams, and the faint lightings tell
Of the approaching dawn;
A dead leaf hides a little pearly shell
That lies forlorn.
Of sweet sad dreams, and the faint lightings tell
Of the approaching dawn;
A dead leaf hides a little pearly shell
That lies forlorn.
A broken blossom, all its beauty flown,
Hangs desolate beside an ancient stone;
The dews of yesternight
Have fallen on a grave that lies alone
In the gray light.
Hangs desolate beside an ancient stone;
The dews of yesternight
Have fallen on a grave that lies alone
In the gray light.
12
The gloomy pool is stagnant, and the grass
Has overgrown the pathway where none pass,
The lights of dawn disclose
In a small ornament of Time-stained glass
A withered rose.
Has overgrown the pathway where none pass,
The lights of dawn disclose
In a small ornament of Time-stained glass
A withered rose.
Only a sadder change each season brings
Unto this spot, a haunting sadness clings
About its paths untrod;
It seems the home of all forgotten things—
The home of God.
Unto this spot, a haunting sadness clings
About its paths untrod;
It seems the home of all forgotten things—
The home of God.
| Songs in the Whirlwind | |