A BACKWARD GLANCE.
55
When the round moon cast her shadow,
On the cornfields waving ears.
On the cornfields waving ears.
When waist-deep I saw the mowers,
In thy blooming harvest stand,
And the gleaming scythe-blades levelled,
Plumy grass and spreading fern,
How I tossed the fragrant hay-swaths,
Drinking in their sweet perfume,
Or beneath thy spreading chestnut,
In the heart of fervid noons,
Pondered, all my child-heart yearning,
Ancient tales of love and wrong.
In thy blooming harvest stand,
And the gleaming scythe-blades levelled,
Plumy grass and spreading fern,
How I tossed the fragrant hay-swaths,
Drinking in their sweet perfume,
Or beneath thy spreading chestnut,
In the heart of fervid noons,
Pondered, all my child-heart yearning,
Ancient tales of love and wrong.
Ob! old time playground, time has brought,
Changes both to you and me,
For the curling locks that floated,
Wind-kissed, on thy fragrant breeze,
Now are streaked with silvery whiteness,
And this heart beats faint and low,
And thy greenness and thy beauty,
Bloom no more as long ago.
Grinding sound of wheel and hammer,
Ring where once the robins sang,
And thy marshes dark and grimy,
Bear the stamp of Progress' hand.
Changes both to you and me,
For the curling locks that floated,
Wind-kissed, on thy fragrant breeze,
Now are streaked with silvery whiteness,
And this heart beats faint and low,
And thy greenness and thy beauty,
Bloom no more as long ago.
Grinding sound of wheel and hammer,
Ring where once the robins sang,
And thy marshes dark and grimy,
Bear the stamp of Progress' hand.
