Poems (Dodd)/To Frances
TO FRANCES.
Dear cousin, sing the song I loved of yore, When my light heart was happy all the while;When on my cheek, where roses bloom no more, The tear was far less frequent than the smile;Sweet thoughts are linked with every thrilling strain,Sing to me, cousin, sing it once again.
Dearest, how often, in the days gone by, For me that touching lay thy lips have sung,When on bright wings we saw the moments fly, For we were both light-hearted, gay, and young:There was no cloud upon our summer skies;There was no shadow in our joyous eyes.
We were like sisters, for the circling hours Seemed to unite us with as strong a tie,As though our infant steps among the flowers, Had erst been watched by the same mother's eye;We tracked the wild bird and the wandering bee,And well we loved all sounds of melody.
Thy voice was like the breathing of a flute, Heard at still evening o'er the moonlit sea;My heart sang with the, but my lips were mute, I did not share the gift bestowed on thee.Strong is the spell by music round me thrown,But never could my voice awake its tone.
O, there are strains which thrill the feeling heart, With sadly sweet remembrance of the past;With joys that all too soon we saw depart, And hopes which brightened to deceive at last:They smile once more, as o'er life's mazy track,The song-woke spirit swiftly wanders back.
Soon we were parted, and the years passed on; The tireless steps of time we cannot stay;But weary seemed the hours while thou wert gone To find another home so far away:I longed to fold thee to my heart the while,To hear thy voice again and see thee smile.
Then thou wert ill, and yet I was not near To bathe thy brow and hold thine aching head,To seek with pleasant words thy heart to cheer, And keep love's patient watch beside thy bed.While far I waited with a heart of care,Thy name was breathed in many a fervent prayer.
But health returns, and on the wings of love Again thou comest to thine early home,The truth of childhood's memories to prove, And through its old familiar scenes to roam.Dear eyes beam on thee with affection's light,Fond lips with thine in many a kiss unite.
We stand where autumn leaves are thickly strewn, And see the beauty of the year depart;Thus has the brightness of our young days flown, And "hours that were" come thronging to the heart;Like the aroma of the dying flowers,Sweet is the memory of those vanished hours.
Frances, thou art not here! I did but dream I heard the numbers of my favorite song;But O, so pleasant did the vision seem, I would that fancy might the spell prolong.Lonely and sad I muse, thou art not near,The music of thy voice I may not hear.
Now must I say farewell! that mournful word; A word I cannot breathe without regret;But silent is my lyre, its strings were stirred To say that thy dear love I cherish yet;And O, may Heaven its choicest favors send,To bless thy lot, my cousin and my friend.