Poems (Chitwood)/Lyle

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

LYLE.

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

I cherish thee so fondly, yetTong 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 throngMine 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 countenanceHas thrilled me with a passing glance—An azure eye, a tress of goldThe 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 lookWithin my heart as in a book,And slowly, pensively to traceEach feature of thy lovely face.

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