Poems (Chitwood)/A Memory
For works with similar titles, see A Memory.
A MEMORY.
Like a bird to southern clime, Memory loves to goTo a sweet Autumnal time Many years ago.Winds were chanting mournful rhyme Musical and low,In that sweet Autumnal time, Many years ago!
Not the frost-work, like a crown Resting on the bowers;Not the ripe fruit dropping down All the luscious hours; Not the leaflets red and brown Ticking on the bowers,Gave the world its beauty crown Those Autumnal hours.
When the west wind's mournful moan Floated o'er the hill,One was with me, whose dear tone Made my heart-strings thrill.Oft, and oft when all alone, Comes that lost voice still;Oft and oft that dreaming tone Males my heart-strings thrill.
Ah! that early love was told Many years ago;Those sweet lips are white and cold As the winter's snow:And my heart for aye must hold Many waves of woe,For the lips as white and cold As the deep, deep snow!