Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN OLD SWEETHEART [OF MINE], by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN OLD SWEETHEART [OF MINE], by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: An old sweetheart of mine! -- is this her presence here with me
Last Line: To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.
Alternate Author Name(s): Johnson Of Boone, Benj. F.
Subject(s): Children; Dreams; Love - Beginnings; Childhood; Nightmares


An old sweetheart of mine! -- Is this her presence here with me,
Or but a vain creation of a lover's memory?
A fair, illusive vision that would vanish into air,
Dared I even touch the silence with the whisper of a prayer?

Nay, let me then believe in all the blended false and true --
The semblance of the old love and the substance of the new,
The then of changeless sunny days -- the now of shower and shine --
But Love forever smiling -- as that old sweedheart of mine.

This ever restful sense of home though shouts ring in the hall --
The easy chair -- the old book-shelves and prints along the wall;
The rare Habanas in their box, or gaunt church-warden-stem
That often wags, above the jar, derisively at them.

As one who cons at evening o'er an album, all alone,
And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known,
So I turn the leaves of fancy, till in shadowy design
I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine.

The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise,
As I turn it low to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes,
And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke
Its fate with my tobacco, and to vanish with the smoke.

'T is a fragrant retrospection -- for the loving thoughts that start
Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart;
And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine --
When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart of mine.

Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings,
The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings,
I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme
When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream.

In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm
To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm --
For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine
That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine.

O Childhood-days enchanted! O magic of the Spring! --
With all green boughs to blossom, white, and all bluebirds to sing!
When all the air, to toss and quaff, made life a jubilee
And changed the children's song and laugh to shrieks of ecstasy.

With eyes half closed in clouds that ooze from lips that taste, as well,
The peppermint and cinnamon, I hear the old school bell,
And from "Recess" romp in again from "Blackman's" broken line,
To smile, behind my "lesson," at that old sweetheart of mine.

A face of lily beauty, with a form of airy grace,
Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase;
And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes
As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies.

I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress
She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress
With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine
Grew round the stump," she loved me -- that old sweetheart of mine.

Again I made her presents, in a really helpless way, -
The big "Rhode Island Greening" -- I was hungry, too, that day! --
But I follow her from spelling, with her hand behind her -- so --
And I slip the apple in it - and the Teacher doesn't know!

I give my treasures to her -- all, my pencil -- blue and red; --
And, if little girls played marbles, mine should all be hers, instead!
But she gave me her photograph, and printed "Ever Thine"
Across the back -- in blue and red -- that old sweetheart of mine!

And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand,
As we used to talk together of the future we had planned --
When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do
But write the tender verses that she set the music to:

Then we should live together in a cosy little cot,
Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot,
Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine,
And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine:

When I should be her lover forever and a day,
And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray;
And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb
They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come.

But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair,
And the door is softly opened, and -- my wife is standing there;
Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign
To greet the living presence of that old sweetheart of mine.




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