Poems (Chitwood)/To Leda

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

TO LEDA.

The orchard trees are white with flowers,
 And I am sitting 'neath their bloom,
Dreaming the aromatic hours
 Away in soft perfume.
A sort of gentle music floats
 Melodiously to mine ear;
Of bees' low murmurs, and the notes
 Of bird songs low but clear.

Long years ago, an eve as fair
 As this, beneath the odorous flowers,
Their blooms upon our mingled hair
 Fell slowly through the hours.
Nor bees' low murmur, nor the birds
 Last nestling twitter met my ear;
I listened to the lips whose words
 I'm pining now to hear.

That was our last fond meeting—years
 Have circled slowly by since then;
But, oh! to-night my spirit hears
 Thy parting words again,
In all their music-lulling tone;
 In all the sadness of farewell,
I feel the pressure in my own
 Of hands invisible.

The orchard trees are white with flowers,
 And I am sitting 'neath their bloom,
Breathing the aromatic hours
 Away in soft perfume;
The evening star is shining clear,
 And odorous breezes tremble by;
I call thy name, and pause to hear
 Thy gentle voice reply.