Classic Poem

The housewife, folding her linen up,
Lingers with suddenly tender care
Over a worn though unmarred piece
Marked with the name she used to bear.

Childhood and youth are again with her,
In all their bounty and fresh delight;
The faces of kindred; where they dwelt;
All are passing before her sight.

The cunning work of that far-off time
Enchains her in tearful revery,
With a thin hand on the hoary head; —
Oh, once how fair were Hope and she!

The beautiful letters still so clear
She wrote, and wreathed with the flowery vine,
While Wedded Happiness stood without,
Whispering, " I shall soon be thine. "

Dear revelations of all that time
And death have stolen from her since then
Brighten and sadden alternately
The eye of threescore years and ten.

" Lay by this relic; the name is dear,
Linking my girlhood and wifehood so,
Ay! let me whisper it softer yet, —
Sacred to widowhood's early woe.

" Lay by this relic; it covered him
Ere the grave took in its trust to keep;
'T is a common clasp to most precious loves,
Cover me with it when I'm asleep. "