Page:Poems Odom.djvu/134

I listen, and fancy again I can seeThe deep shaded woods and the old beechen tree,With its emerald arms stretching up to the sky,Spreading out o'er the brook that goes murmuring by.As though it were singing the pebbles to restThat are lying so white in its crystalline breast.

I love the old tree, and the wood, and the streamSo hallowed and sacred to love's early dream,Upon the smooth bark a sweet record you tracedThat Time's busy fingers have never effaced—Your name and my own with the date of the yearEach letter remains there distinctly and clear.Friends smiled at the plighting of children, but weHave kept the vows made by the old beechen tree.Years later, I stood there again at your side,And watched you engraving the name of your bride.You said with a smile, as you gave me a kiss:"The old name is not half so pretty as this."

Looking back through the evergreen vista of yearsHow vividly each recollection appears;