Poems (Chitwood)/To Nellie

by Mary Louisa Chitwood

TO NELLIE.

I'm listening for thy voice, Nellie,
 As the soft winds float away,
And a golden haze is on the brow
 Of the calm, Autumnal day.
But a shadow steals athwart my soul,
 My lips grow cold and mute—
Thy voice is a broken lute, Nellie,
 Thy voice is a broken lute.

I'm waiting for thy step, Nellie,
 I am waiting till I hear
Each lonesome throb of the saddened heart,
 To which thou wast so dear.
But the thrilling song of the woodland bird
 Comes ringing through the dell;
Thy step hath gone like the summer breeze—
 The step I loved so well.

I'm looking for thine eyes, Nellie,
 I'm looking for thine eyes,
When the stars come forth, and the bashful moon
 Walks softly down the skies.
And in the clear, celestial blue,
 As I am gazing now,
A something thrills my soul, Nellie;
 A something;—Is it thou?

I'm looking on thy face, Nellie,
 As it comes to me at night,
With lips that have not lost their bloom,
 And eyes so softly bright.
And then I ponder in my heart
 The sweet delicious past;
Oh, thou wast my dear first love, Nellie,
 And thou shalt be my last.

It is years since thou hast died, Nellie,
 Long years since thou hast died,
And heaven but knows how oft I've prayed,
 To lay me by thy side.
But many weary, weary miles
 Between us darkly be,
And the same wild rose will never cast
 Its blooms o'er thee and me.

The world seems very fair, Nellie—
 Fair for those hearts that bloom,
But mine is like a storm-rent tree,
 And molders in thy tomb.
And ever in my dreams at night,
 The past floats sweetly by—
The past, 'tis a madness now, Nellie—
 Oh why, why didst thou die?