It is evening, quiet evening, As I sit before the blaze Of the hickory fire glowing, Musing o'er my childhood days. Memory, intrusive goddess, Gently waves her magic wand Across my eyes, and I can see The old, the old mill-pond. I am dreaming it is summer, I am near my father's home, I am a happy child again; O'er the mill-pond's banks I roam. O'er its banks with grasses covered, Where shines the sunlight bright, My checkered apron filling With blossoms milky white. Now 'tis summer, and I'm fishing, Not for trout, but finny perch; Or for mussel shells and pebbles O'er the sandy bar I search. Or with feet bared, I am wading Knee-deep in the mill-pond cool; My mind free from annoying Thoughts of work and books and school. Autumn: and I'm at the mill-pond; Fishing on its banks I stand, Or I'm building tiny castles On the moist and yellow sand. Now 'tis winter; still the mill-pond Is my favorite place to play; I'm gliding o'er its bosom, Which is frozen now and gray. Always at the mill-pond with me Was my playmate tried and true; Staunch friends were we from our childhood -- Playmate friend, where now are you? Dear old mill-pond, dear old playmate, Childhood days so gay and bright; With that past you all are numbered; Far from me you're all to-night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BALCONY by PAUL VERLAINE THE WAYS OF TIME by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES CHILD AND MOTHER by EUGENE FIELD ON F----- & S----- by WILLIAM BLAKE ENGLISH COUNTRY (WHERE THREE SHIRES MEET) by WILLIAM BLISS |