Poems (Chitwood)/On a Departed One
OF A DEPARTED ONE.
When the Spring-time's gentle flowersScent the softly flying hours,My full heart is sweetly ladenWith the memories of a maiden,Whose small hand in mine was lyingWhen the Spring hours last were dying.
Few there were to cheer and bless her,Few there were to e'er caress her,For the grave's thick dusty coverClosed o'er those who once did love her;But their memories, in her bosom,Were like dew drops in a blossom.
Once she said, with gentle sighing,—'Twas the day before her dying,And she spake with great endeavor,—"Not alone have I been, ever;For, whatever did betide me,'Guardian angels' were beside me.
"By the stream, and by the meadowIn the sunlight, in the shadow;In the crowd, or sitting lonelyWhere the bright stars saw me only;In my waking, in my dreaming,Angel eyes were o'er me beaming.
"I can almost hear the hummingOf their pinions, at their coming;And their glances, clearly shining,Kept my heart from early pining;For I knew their love could coverAll the cold world's frowning over."
Thus she spake, the gentle maiden,With whose memory I am laden; And in whispers kept repeating,Till her pure heart ceased its beating,And the white hand I was clasping,Loosed its gentle, gentle grasping.
Thick the dust upon her bosom!Sweet her sleep—the lovely blossom!Yet in Spring-time's gentle hours,'Mid the bees, and birds, and flowers,My full heart is softly ladenWith the memories of the maiden.
Do her pinions bright enfold me?Do her blue eyes e'er behold me?Does she leave each fair evangelTo become my guardian angel?For my heart is ever ladenWith the memories of the maiden!