Poems (Howard)/Mysterious

by Hattie Howard

Mysterious.

It was on a winter's night,
 And the wind blew sharp and shrill;
Brightly glowed the anthracite
 Lighting up my domicile,
When before the fire I brought
 My fauteuil, soft and low,
Cushioned, carved, and quaintly wrought
 In the style of long ago.

Care had vanished with the day,
 And, as by the fire-light rays,
Fancy in a dreamy way
 Pictured scenes of other days;
Skillfully her fingers drew,
 Silently, defined, and clear,
One bright panoramic view
 Of the past forever dear.

Oh, the night was wild without,
 And the skies were grim and cold;
Drifted snow-banks piled about
 Acres hid of frozen mold;
But within, as though 't were Spring,
 Piping out their chansonnettes
I could hear the robins sing,
 I could smell the violets.

So I dreamed—and woke to find,
 Roused from this delightful nap,
From an unknown donor kind
 Something lying in my lap;
Such a pretty birthday card!
 As if wafted from above,
With a couplet from that bard
 Who divinely sang of love.

Just a bit of pasteboard, fringed
 Necktie style and squarely cut,
Double-faced and ecru-tinged
 Like a million others—but
Exquisite in flowers rare,
 Pioneers in blossoming,
Redolent of balmy air,
 Fragrant with the breath of Spring.

How it came I never knew,
 Nor the "Open Sesame"
That my door responded to—
 It is all a mystery—
But to me 't will ever seem
 Angels dropped it in my room;
Inspiration of my dream,
 Sweet with violet perfume.