Poems (Chitwood)/Revisitation

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

REVISITATION.

I have rambled out in the woods to-day—
 The old woods dark with leaves,
Where the lute-like notes of the zephyrs play
 And the lark his matin weaves.
I sat again in our trysting seat,
 With the grape vines wreathed across—
There were flowers with blue eyes at my feet,
 And cups of the dew-bright moss.

I could see the shining waters plash,
 As the river sang its song,
And at times I caught the whirl and flash
 As bird wings swept along.
The willows threw their golden hair
 To the sunbeam's softened glow,
And nameless flowers on the green-sward there
 Swayed softly to and fro.

I missed thee there. I saw the roof
 Of our old home o'er the hill,
And through the sunbeam's shining woof,
 The blue smoke curling still;
But I know that strangers dwell there now,
 And the vines around the door
Droop on thy curls and sunny brow,
 Sweet lost one, never more.

I sat in our dear old trysting-seat,
 And thought of the days gone by,—
Oh, life has lost its sweetest sweet
 When the dew of the heart grows dry.
'Tis not when the hair is mixed with gray,
 And three score years are told,
But in a single hour or day
 We feel that we are old.

Oh, when the hopes to which we clung
 In a single hour have died—
When closed is the eye and mute the tongue
 Of o loved one at our side,
Our lips may be like roses bright,
 Yet the heart, a withered thing,
Nor years may weave the shattered light,
 Nor the solace of Lethe bring.

I sat in our trysting-seat to-day,
 And thought upon thy rest,
No cares may pierce the roof of clay
 That lies above thy breast.
Oh, thou hast gone in the light of youth
 To the rest of the peaceful fold,
With a child-like soul and a lip of truth,
 Where the heart can ne'er grow cold.