Poems (Chitwood)/An Autumnal Rhyme

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

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 gaze
Away to the love-haunted distance
 Of dim yesterdays.