Poems (Chitwood)/An Autumnal Rhyme
AN AUTUMNAL RHYME.
Now, when the brown locks of October Are white with the frost,My heart goeth back, like a pilgrim, To Autumns long lost.
'Tis not that the dreamy night-shadows Rest soft on my brow,That on the wild billows of passion. My heart rocketh now.
'Tis not that the sweet lips around me, Are brimful of tune,For I would go out from this gladness Alone to commune.
And through the dim eyes of remembrance, I fondly would gaze,Away in the love-haunted distance Of dim yesterdays.
I see by the white-sanded river, With tears in my eyes,A calm home, quiet and holy, Before me arise.
The ruddy light lies on the shutters, And closed is the door,For she who once sat by the hearth-stone, Will be there no more.
The asters rise up in the garden, In blue and in red;In every nook golden with sunshine, Sleep Summer's young dead,
Anon I can hear in the pauses Of doves as they call,Away in the gloom of the orchard, The ripe apples fall.
And then 1 go up to the maple, That stands on the hill,And there is the place where my heart-strings All painfully thrill.
For there, in the quiet October, They laid one away,Whose little grave folds a black curtain All over the day.
And once more I gaze on the cottage, The room where she died,And every path where I have rambled With her by my side.
In orchard, and meadow, and garden, Wherever I rove,Her meek eyes arc gazing upon me, With looks full of love.
Oh, when the brown locks of October Are white with the frost,My heart goeth back, like a pilgrim, To Autumns long lost.
For often the star-shining curtains Are softly let down,And blessings descend on my forehead, And rest like a crown.
This is why I go out in my sadness, And earnestly gazeAway to the love-haunted distance Of dim yesterdays.