Poems (Chitwood)/To Mary

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

For works with similar titles, see To Mary.

TO MARY.

A glorious host of gentle stars
 Are peeping from the blue sky's breast,
Long lines of clouds like golden bars,
 Have paled to white along the west,
And every breeze that fans my brow,
 Or softly stirs the fading leaves,
Brings thee in fancy to me now,
 Upon these wild Autumnal eves.

I wandered this October day,
 Strayed in a pleasant, saddened dream,
Into the wild-wood far away,
 By sloping hill and rippling stream.
The sky above was mild and clear,
 Pale crimson haze concealed the blue,
And through the smoky atmosphere
 The faded woods were sad to view.

I sat me down awhile to think
 Of many by-gone pleasant hours,
And thought by thought began to link
 A wreath of beauty like the flowers.
'Twas then thy name returned to me,
 Like gentle bird to evening nest,
Of all my love had been to thee,
 Of all thy love which made me blest.

And now, this glorious Autumn night,
 Fair as an eve in lovely June,
A message to thy heart I write,
 Beneath the tissue of the moon.
Dear one, if angels ever come
 From their sweet homes of light above,
Oh! hover round my heart and home,
 And bathe my brow with drops of love.

Art thou not here?—for oh! my heart
 Throbs with such perfect peace to-night,
And busy fancy makes me start,
 I seem to hear thy footsteps light.
Blest presence—oh! to feel, to know
 That angel comforters are given,
In every hour of earthly woe,
 To lift our hearts to hope and heaven!

Bright, lost one, thou art surely here,
 Thy love within my spirit shines;
Thy gentle voice I seem to hear
 In each lute breeze that stirs the vines,
And murmuring music sweet and soft
 Comes to my ear in cadence light;
'Tis this that lifts my soul aloft,
 And makes thee seem so near to-night.

Oh! canst thou read my thoughts, my love,
 My joys and sorrows canst thou know?
In thy bright home of peace above,
 Canst sympathize with mortal's woe?
I know not—'tis enough to feel,
 When tears of sorrow dim mine eyes,
Thy presence o'er my soul can steal
 Like morning's blush o'er darkened skies.

Now one by one the bright stars set,
 The moonlight falls less brilliantly,
The night is wearing by, and yet
 My heart is blessed with dreams of thee.
Adieu! and while I journey on
 My earthly path of doubts and fears,
At holy eve or morning's dawn,
 Be thou the "angel of my years."