Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/Aunt Annie
AUNT ANNIE.
The old house has, for being sweet,
Some sweeter reason than the rose
Which, red or white, about the feet
Of many a nested home-bird grows.
Some sweeter reason than the rose
Which, red or white, about the feet
Of many a nested home-bird grows.
And sadder reason than the rain
On the quaint porch, for being sad,
(Oh, human pity, human pain!)
The old house, in its shadows, had.
On the quaint porch, for being sad,
(Oh, human pity, human pain!)
The old house, in its shadows, had.
I sat within it as a guest,
I who went from it as a wife;—
The young days there, though not the best,
Had been the fairest of my life:
I who went from it as a wife;—
The young days there, though not the best,
Had been the fairest of my life:
For love itself must ever seem
More precious, to our restless youth,
When hovering subtly in its dream
Than when we touch its nestling truth.
More precious, to our restless youth,
When hovering subtly in its dream
Than when we touch its nestling truth.
I sat there as a guest, I said—
Holding the loveliest boy on earth,
With his fair, sleepy, yellow head
Close to the pleasant shining hearth.
Holding the loveliest boy on earth,
With his fair, sleepy, yellow head
Close to the pleasant shining hearth.
He laughed out in his sleep, and I
Laughed too, and kissed him—when I heard
A wise and very cautious sigh;
And once again the dimples stirred.
Laughed too, and kissed him—when I heard
A wise and very cautious sigh;
And once again the dimples stirred.
Aunt Annie looked at him awhile;
Then shook her head at her own fears,
With more of sorrow in her smile
Than I could ever put in tears.
Then shook her head at her own fears,
With more of sorrow in her smile
Than I could ever put in tears.
"He is a pretty boy I know—
The prettiest in the world? Ah, me!
One other, fifty years ago,
Was quite as pretty, dear, as he.
The prettiest in the world? Ah, me!
One other, fifty years ago,
Was quite as pretty, dear, as he.
"Now I am eighty. Twenty-five
Are gone since last we heard from James.
I sometimes think he is alive."
She hushed, and looked into the flames.
Are gone since last we heard from James.
I sometimes think he is alive."
She hushed, and looked into the flames.
"He used to tell me, when a child,
Of far, strange countries, where they say
The flowers bloom all the year"—she smiled—
"I can't believe it, to this day!
Of far, strange countries, where they say
The flowers bloom all the year"—she smiled—
"I can't believe it, to this day!
"And still I think he may have crossed
The sea—and stayed the other side.
His letters may have all been lost—
'Who knows? Who knows? The world is wide.
The sea—and stayed the other side.
His letters may have all been lost—
'Who knows? Who knows? The world is wide.
"I often think, if you could know
How much he makes me think of him,
You 'd guess why I love Victor so."
Again the troubled eyes were dim.
How much he makes me think of him,
You 'd guess why I love Victor so."
Again the troubled eyes were dim.
"If your child, such a night, were out
Lost in this dark and snow and sleet,
You would go wild, I do not doubt."
I almost heard her own heart beat.
Lost in this dark and snow and sleet,
You would go wild, I do not doubt."
I almost heard her own heart beat.
"Yet long, on stormier nights than this,
Mine has been out—why should I care
How many a winter now it is?
Mine has been out—and He knows where."
Mine has been out—why should I care
How many a winter now it is?
Mine has been out—and He knows where."