Classic Poem

Dear Mary, I remember yet
The day when first we rode together,
Through groves where grew the violet,
For it was in the Maying weather.

And I remember how the woods
Were thrilled with love's delightful chorus;
How in the scented air the buds,
Like our young hearts, were swelling o'er us.

The little birds, in tuneful play,
Along the fence before us fluttered;
The robin hopped across the way,
Then turned to hear the words we uttered!

We stopped beside the willow-brook,
That trickled through its bed of rushes;
While timidly the reins you took,
I gathered blooms from briar bushes;

And one I placed, with fingers meek,
Within your little airy bonnet;
But then I looked and saw your cheek —
Another rose was blooming on it!

Some miles beyond the village lay,
Where pleasures were in wait to wreathe us;
While swiftly flew the hours away,
As swiftly flew the road beneath us

How gladly we beheld arise,
Across the hill, the village steeple;
Then met the urchin's wondering eyes,
And gaze of window-peering people!

The dusty coach that brought the mail,
Before the office-door was standing;
Beyond, the blacksmith, gray and hale,
With burning tire the wheel was banding.

We passed some fruit-trees — after these
A bedded garden lying sunward;
Then saw, beneath three aged trees,
The parsonage a little onward.

A modest building, somewhat gray,
Escaped from time, from storm, disaster;
The very threshold worn away
With feet of those who'd sought the pastor.

And standing on the threshold there,
We saw a child of angel lightness;
Her soul-lit face — her form of air,
Outshone the sunlight with their brightness!

As then she stood I see her now —
In years perchance a half a dozen —
And Mary, you remember how
She ran to you and called you " cousin? "

As then, I see her slender size,
Her flowing locks upon her shoulder —
A six years' loss to Paradise,
And ne'er on earth the child grew older!

Three times the flowers have dropped away,
Three winters glided gayly o'er us,
Since here upon that morn in May
The little maiden stood before us.

These are the elms, and this the door,
With trailing woodbine overshaded;
But from the step, for evermore,
The sunlight of that child has faded!