OLD LETTERS.
Within an ancient Hall
Where oft I love to wander, once I found
An antique casket, that without a sound
Flew open quick, and as a Rose will fall
To pieces at a touch when overblown,
So was the floor around me thickly strown
With yellow leaves, the letters of the Dead:
Oh, hands that wrote these words, oh, loving eyes
That brightened over them, oh, hearts whose prize
And treasure once were these, by Time made Heir
To this your sometime wealth, with pious care
I gather in my hoards; for this is dust
Of human hearts that now I hold in trust, '
And while I muse above it, spirits flown
Come back and commune with me, till the fled
Pale ink reveals two names that now have grown
Familiar to my soul, as I had known
And pitied them in Youth; in parley soft
I win their secrets forth from them, and oft
Make question of their Past! Did Love find rest
And fold its wings where it had made its nest
Where oft I love to wander, once I found
An antique casket, that without a sound
Flew open quick, and as a Rose will fall
To pieces at a touch when overblown,
So was the floor around me thickly strown
With yellow leaves, the letters of the Dead:
Oh, hands that wrote these words, oh, loving eyes
That brightened over them, oh, hearts whose prize
And treasure once were these, by Time made Heir
To this your sometime wealth, with pious care
I gather in my hoards; for this is dust
Of human hearts that now I hold in trust, '
And while I muse above it, spirits flown
Come back and commune with me, till the fled
Pale ink reveals two names that now have grown
Familiar to my soul, as I had known
And pitied them in Youth; in parley soft
I win their secrets forth from them, and oft
Make question of their Past! Did Love find rest
And fold its wings where it had made its nest
