Poems (Chitwood)/Nell

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

NELL.

I am sitting alone in sadness,
 I hear the wild winds sigh,
Snow wreaths are on the lattice,
 The full moon in the sky;
And an undertone is sounding,
 Like the moan of an ocean shell—
My heart grows sad and sadder,
 While I think of little Nell.

When the glorious golden sunlight
 Called up the April flowers;
When, like a troop of fairies,
 Exquisitely passed the hours,—
Violets by the streamlet,
 Buttercups in the dell,—
She was here with her tones of gladness—
 Beautiful little Nell.

When, with the dew-pearls laden,
 Blushed the roses of June,
Clouds were gold in the morning,
 And silver in the noon.
By the hoary rock all moss-crown'd,
 Where the sparkling waters fell
With a low yet witching tinkle,
 Lingered beautiful, sweet Nell.

When the hand of sober Autumn
 Threw a blue veil o'er the day,
From the brow of that child-angel,
Smooth'd were all the curls away.
O'er the heavenly eyes of azure
 The lashes lightly fell,
And her coral lips ceased smiling—
 Beautiful little Nell.

Over the sloping shoulders,
 Over the arms of white,
The folds of the snowy muslin
 Fell silently and light.
The little hands were clasped
 Like flowers when day beams cease;
The dove-like spirit wafted
 Through the golden gates of peace.

By the hoary, moss-crown'd rock,
 Where the sparkling waters play,
A little grave was fashioned
 Out of the yellow clay.
Since then I've heard in dreaming
 The echoing mold that fell
Over the peaceful bosom
 Of beautiful little Nell.