Poems (Chitwood)/Lyle

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

LYLE.

Sweet memory, with a painter's art
Has traced thine image on my heart;
Thine azure eyes and golden hair,
Thy sunny face still lingers there.

I cherish thee so fondly, yet
Tong years have passed since last we met,
And left their shadows on thy brow—
Perchance I should not know thee now.
And yet, and yet in Beauty's throng
Mine eyes have sought some fair face long;
It seemed like as thine own to me,
Yet lacked some grace I found in thee.

And on the street some countenance
Has thrilled me with a passing glance—
An azure eye, a tress of gold
The picture on my heart unrolled.

I know that I am still the same,
For if I chance to hear thy name,
A crimson glow is on my cheek,—
I sadly smile, but can not speak.

But when alone, how sweet to look
Within my heart as in a book,
And slowly, pensively to trace
Each feature of thy lovely face.

I would not from that picture part
For all the costly gems of art;
For memory's pencil true and fair
Traced thy sweet face so perfect there.