I sat an hour to-day, John, Beside the old brook-stream, -- Where we were school-boys in old time, When manhood was a dream; The brook is choked with fallen leaves, The pond is dried away, I scarce believe that you would know The dear old place to-day. The school-house is no more, John, -- Beneath our locust-trees, The wild rose by the window's side No more waves in the breeze; The scattered stones look desolate; The sod they rested on Has been plowed up by stranger hands, Since you and I were gone. The chestnut-tree is dead, John -- And what is sadder now, The grapevine of that same old swing Hangs on the withered bough. I read our names upon the bark, And found the pebbles rare Laid up beneath the hollow side, As we piled them there. Beneath the grass-grown bank, John, -- I looked for our old spring, That bubbled down the alder-path Three paces from the swing; The rushes grow upon the brink, The pool is black and bare, And not a fool for many a day, It seems, has trodden there. I took the old blind road, John, That wandered up the hill, -- 'Tis darker that it used to be, And seems so lone and still; The birds yet sing upon the boughs Where once the sweet grapes hung, But not a voice of human kind Where all our voices rung. I sat me on the fence, John, That lies as in old time, The same half-panel in the path We used so oft to climb, -- And though how, o'er the bars of life, Our playmates had passed on, And left me counting on the spot The faces that were gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MARY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SILENCE SINGS by THOMAS STURGE MOORE ILICET by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE SPRING SONG by JEAN ANTOINE DE BAIF A GARDEN SPOT by PRINGLE BARRET A DIALOGUE (FOR A BASE AND TWO TREBLES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |