Poems (Baldwyn)/The Willow-Trees

by Augusta Baldwyn

THE WILLOW-TREES.

Sweet trees, how oft, in early years,
 I've sat beneath your quiet shade,
Ere life was clouded o'er with tears,
 Or one sweet flow'r had learn'd to fade!

There infant sports and childhood's glee
 Were heard through many a summer day
Then ev'ry heart from grief was free,
 And life was robed in hues of May.

There first the Sabbath morning gave
 Its lesson from the sacred word;
And as we view'd your branches wave,
 We learn'd the love of Christ the Lord.

There, when the early morning rose,
 Our father sought his own lov'd seat;
And oft, at dewy ev'ning's close,
 He trod that undisturb'd retreat.

Then converse lit the passing hour
 With joy no other time hath worn;—
What's sweeter than the spring-time flow'r,
 Or lovelier than the light of morn!

When rustling in the trembling breeze,
 A whisp'ring melody you sung,
I learn'd from you, sweet willow-trees,
 The music that through nature rung.

Still, still you sing, and still you wave
 Your boughs, as in those days of yore:
But some are gone;—oh, stranger, save
 One for my grave,—I ask no more.