Poems (Dorr)/Eventide
For works with similar titles, see Eventide.
EVENTIDE
Whenever, with reverent footsteps, I pass through the open doorOf Memory's stately palace, Where dwell the days of yore,One scene, like a lovely vision, Comes to me o'er and o'er.
'Tis a dim, fire-lighted chamber; There are pictures on the wall;And around them dance the shadows Grotesque and weird and tall,As the flames on the storied hearth-stone Wavering rise and fall.
An ancient cabinet stands there, That came from beyond the seas,With a breath of spicy odors Caught from the Indian breeze;And its fluted doors and moldings Are dark with mysteries.
There's an old arm-chair in the corner, Straight-backed and tall and quaint;Ah! many a generation— Sinner and sage and saint—It hath held in its ample bosom With murmur nor complaint!
In the glow of the fire-light playing, A tiny, blithesome pair,With the music of their laughter Fill all the tranquil air—A rosy, brown-eyed lassie, A boy serenely fair.
A woman sits in the shadow Watching the children twain,With a joy so deep and tender It is near akin to pain,And a smile and tear blend softly— Sunshine and April rain!
Her heart keeps time to the rhythm Of love's unuttered prayer,As, with still hands lightly folded, She listens, unaware,Through all the children's laughter, For a footfall on the stair.
I know the woman who sits there; Time hath been kind to her,And the years have brought her treasures Of frankincense and myrrhRicher, perhaps, and rarer, Than Life's young roses were.
But I doubt if ever her spirit Hath known, or yet shall know,The bliss of a happier hour, As the swift years come and go,Than this in the shadowy chamber Lit by the hearth-fire's glow!