Poems (Chitwood)/Dreaming in the Twilight

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

DREAMING IN THE TWILIGHT.

Dreaming in the twilight's
 Soft and golden glow—
Going sadly backward,
 Where I used to go.
Thinking of the homestead,
 With its roof of brown,
Where the rains of summer
 Silently came down;
Thinking of the robin
 Fashioning her nest,
In the little window
 Looking to the west;
Thinking of the forest,
 Where I used to dream;
Listening to the lily-bells,
 Ringing by the stream;
Thinking of the lambkins,
 White as drifted snow;
Going sadly backward,
 Where I used to go.

Dreaming, sadly dreaming,
 In the hush of day,
Why the years, like billows,
 Sweep our joys away.
On the mossy homestead
 Falls the gentle rain,
I can never listen
 To it, there, again.
Long ago the robin
 Ceased to build her nest
In the sunny window,
 Looking to the west.
Long ago the lilies
 Died beside the stream;
I can never wander
 There, again, to dream.
Other lambs, with fleeces
 White and soft as snow,
Skip among the daisies,
 Where I used to go.

Not for homestead, slowly
 Crumbling in decay;
Not for birds and flowers,
 That have passed away;
Not for all these changes,
 Throbs my heart with woe,
As I go, in fancy,
 Where I used to go.
But I weep, while sadly
 Dreaming here, alone,
For a hand that softly
 Slid from out my own.
For a little hillock,
 Grassy, now, with years,
Scooped along my pathway,
 Do I give my tears.
If my friend were with me,
 I would never know,
Or grieve for all the changes.
 Where I used to go.