AFTER LONG YEARS.
I stand once again in the home of my youth, The sunny old house on the hill,The jessamine vine with its pure waxen stars Climbs lovingly over it still.The roses are flinging their fragrance abroad And freighting the air with perfume;The myrtles are dropping their gay-colored leaves, The pathway is pink with their bloom.
The spirit of silence reigns over the place, My lashes are heavy with tears.The faces I knew and the voices I loved Have drifted away with the years.The grass, long and tangled, is hiding the path That leads to the orchard to-day;The well has grown dry, and the moss-covered curb Is broken and crumbling away.
The birds sing and twitter about the old trees The swallows coo under the eaves,
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