OLD pictures, faded long, to-night Come out revealed by memory's gleam; And years of checkered dark and light Vanish behind me like a dream. I see the cottage, brown and low, The rustic porch, the roof-tree's shade, And all the place where long ago A group of happy children played. I see the brother, bravest, best, The prompt to act, the bold to speak; The baby, dear and honored guest! The timid sister, shy and meek. I see her loving face who oft Watched, that their slumbers might be sweet; And his whose dear hand made so soft The path for all their tender feet. I see, far off, the woods whose screen Bounded the little world we knew; And near, in fairy rings of green, The grass that round the door-stones grew. I watch at morn the oxen come, And bow their meek necks to the yoke; Or stand at noontide, patient, dumb, In the great shadow of the oak. The barn with crowded mows of hay, And roof upheld by golden sheaves; Its rows of doves, at close of day, Cooing together on the eaves. I see, above the garden-beds, The bee at work with laden wing; The dandelions' yellow heads Crowding about the orchard spring; The little, sweet-voiced, homely thrush; The field-lark, with her speckled breast; The finches in the currant-bush; And where the bluebirds hid their nest. I see the comely apple-trees, In spring, a-blush with blossoms sweet; Or, bending with the autumn breeze, Shake down their ripe fruits at our feet. I see, when hurtling through the air The arrows of the winter fly, And all the frozen earth lies bare, A group about the hearth draw nigh, Of little ones that never tire Of stories told and told again; I see the pictures in the fire, The firelight pictures in the pane. I almost feel the stir and buzz Of day; the evening's holy calm; Yea, all that made me what I was, And helped to make me what I am. Then lo! it dies, as died our youth; And things so strange about me seem, I know not what should be the truth, Nor whether I would wake or dream. I have not found to-day so vain, Nor yesterday so fair and good, That I would have my life again, And live it over if I could. Not every hope for me has proved A house on weak foundation built; I have not seen the feet I loved Caught in the awful snares of guilt. But when I see the paths so hard Kept soft and smooth in days gone by; The lives that years have made or marred, Out of my loneliness I cry: Oh, for the friends that made so bright The days, alas! too soon to wane! Oh, but to be one hour to-night Set in their midst, a child again! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS (THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON) by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE MISTRESS; A SONG by JOHN WILMOT DO THOU LOVE, TOO! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS ON SICK LEAVE, 1916 by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 33. AL-HALIM by EDWIN ARNOLD |