90
poems.
AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE.
"I am old to-day," sighed a weary man,
Whose race had nearly run;
"I am old to-day-past seventy-three:
My life is almost done.
I call to mind my boyhood days,
When I wandered by the stream,
And sprang with footsteps light and fleet,
To greet the morn's first beam.
Whose race had nearly run;
"I am old to-day-past seventy-three:
My life is almost done.
I call to mind my boyhood days,
When I wandered by the stream,
And sprang with footsteps light and fleet,
To greet the morn's first beam.
"I think, too, of my childhood days,
The merry games we played,
How we angled in the meadow brook.
Close by the willow's shade;
I remember, too, a gentle child
A playmate, kind and true;
I seem again to see her form,
And her dancing eyes of blue.
The merry games we played,
How we angled in the meadow brook.
Close by the willow's shade;
I remember, too, a gentle child
A playmate, kind and true;
I seem again to see her form,
And her dancing eyes of blue.
"But that gay and happy one
Is lying 'neath the sod;
Is lying 'neath the sod;
