Poems (Bell)/Rainy Day in the Attic
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RAINY DAY IN THE ATTIC.
Looking o'er little notes tattered and torn,
Looking o'er school-books all dog-eared and worn,
Seeking for treasures in great hope of gain,
This is my pastime in dark days of rain.
Here a sweet note from a lover I find,
All the words in it but serve to remind
The days of the past—those bright days at school,
Where we studied or labored by pretext or rule.
"Dear Girlie, you are the one love of my life.
And some day, I am sure, you will be my wife: "
O Johnnie, you long ago took home a bride
And I'm not the one who stands now by your side."
No children the union of these two do bless,
Still, the couple are happy, I'm bound to confess.
Another dear note signed "yours, from a brother,"
Another John married and gone like the other.
A packet of letters, one year's, how it shows
Original alphabet studied—Charles knows!
O Charlie, our secrets will never be told.
For the alphabet's all forgot, now we're grown old!
A package of letters, I find here "from Fred."
How well I remember the sad tears he shed
On Thanksgiving Day of a time long ago,
He wended his way thro' the woods to and fro
With Willie for company, but he was "too late,"
And found I had gone with another mate.
Full well I remember with "frank" eyes of blue
(The color the symbol of all that is true),
Another, my "sailor-boy," who left friends and home
Among the bright Azores forever to roam.
O sad disappointments! So long ago spent,
When mole-hills seemed mountains, our young minds intent
On fun and on pleasure and never a care,
O memories tender, so tender and rare!
Those days of our childhood, sweet days of the past!
They ne'er can return—too pleasant to last!
Looking o'er school-books all dog-eared and worn,
Seeking for treasures in great hope of gain,
This is my pastime in dark days of rain.
Here a sweet note from a lover I find,
All the words in it but serve to remind
The days of the past—those bright days at school,
Where we studied or labored by pretext or rule.
"Dear Girlie, you are the one love of my life.
And some day, I am sure, you will be my wife: "
O Johnnie, you long ago took home a bride
And I'm not the one who stands now by your side."
No children the union of these two do bless,
Still, the couple are happy, I'm bound to confess.
Another dear note signed "yours, from a brother,"
Another John married and gone like the other.
A packet of letters, one year's, how it shows
Original alphabet studied—Charles knows!
O Charlie, our secrets will never be told.
For the alphabet's all forgot, now we're grown old!
A package of letters, I find here "from Fred."
How well I remember the sad tears he shed
On Thanksgiving Day of a time long ago,
He wended his way thro' the woods to and fro
With Willie for company, but he was "too late,"
And found I had gone with another mate.
Full well I remember with "frank" eyes of blue
(The color the symbol of all that is true),
Another, my "sailor-boy," who left friends and home
Among the bright Azores forever to roam.
O sad disappointments! So long ago spent,
When mole-hills seemed mountains, our young minds intent
On fun and on pleasure and never a care,
O memories tender, so tender and rare!
Those days of our childhood, sweet days of the past!
They ne'er can return—too pleasant to last!