The Lone One at th Old Trysting-Place.
IT is the twilight hour, and o'er the earth
The softening spells of evening shadows steal.
All here is stillness now, and I have come
To look once more upon this spot, and hold
Communion with the unforgotten past.
My heart, all sad and lonely, here would breathe
The silent music that clings round its chords.
The perfume from the incense-breathing meads
Steals o'er my spirit, like the fragrance caught
From many a broken, pale, and withered flower
Of faded memory. The evening star
Still shines above as bright as when it beamed,
In eve's long past, a watchfire in the heavens,
To guide his steps to me
The softening spells of evening shadows steal.
All here is stillness now, and I have come
To look once more upon this spot, and hold
Communion with the unforgotten past.
My heart, all sad and lonely, here would breathe
The silent music that clings round its chords.
The perfume from the incense-breathing meads
Steals o'er my spirit, like the fragrance caught
From many a broken, pale, and withered flower
Of faded memory. The evening star
Still shines above as bright as when it beamed,
In eve's long past, a watchfire in the heavens,
To guide his steps to me
