70
POEMS.
And memories of old before me dance;
From tongues of flame sweet spirits wander by,
And on my old sad heart look down and glance
With gentlest gaze, as from some far-off sky.
This is my birthday eve; November's gloom
Would seek to penetrate its ghostly ire;
But no, warm-sheltered is the cosy room
Where I sit musing by my faithful fire.
From tongues of flame sweet spirits wander by,
And on my old sad heart look down and glance
With gentlest gaze, as from some far-off sky.
This is my birthday eve; November's gloom
Would seek to penetrate its ghostly ire;
But no, warm-sheltered is the cosy room
Where I sit musing by my faithful fire.
Last year my dog sat with me, up and down
His kind eyes followed all my thoughts, I ween,
Affection beamed from his dear eyes of brown,
And I was happy 'neath that gaze serene.
Childhood to-night, with all its fleeting fun
And love of play, has been around my feet,
And childhood's kisses fallen one by one
Upon my brow, and I have felt them sweet.
Aspiring youth, with its long thoughts of fame,
And visions of the future rich and blest,
Has been around me breathing soft my name,
And waking melody within my breast;
And the kind thought of age, a gentle word
And tender wish, have whispered in mine ear,
Till o'er my soul a beauteous dream hath stirred—
A dream of living nobler year by year
But now the guests are gone. The house is still,
Save for the clock that peals a silvery chime
As hours glide by, and midnight creeps at will
On all earth's weariness and all her crime.
His kind eyes followed all my thoughts, I ween,
Affection beamed from his dear eyes of brown,
And I was happy 'neath that gaze serene.
Childhood to-night, with all its fleeting fun
And love of play, has been around my feet,
And childhood's kisses fallen one by one
Upon my brow, and I have felt them sweet.
Aspiring youth, with its long thoughts of fame,
And visions of the future rich and blest,
Has been around me breathing soft my name,
And waking melody within my breast;
And the kind thought of age, a gentle word
And tender wish, have whispered in mine ear,
Till o'er my soul a beauteous dream hath stirred—
A dream of living nobler year by year
But now the guests are gone. The house is still,
Save for the clock that peals a silvery chime
As hours glide by, and midnight creeps at will
On all earth's weariness and all her crime.
