I went back an old-time lane
In the fall o' year,
There was wind and bitter rain
And the leaves were sere.
Once the birds were lilting high
In a far-off May—
I remember, you and I
Were as glad as they.
But the branches now are bare
And the lad you knew,
Long ago was buried there—
Long ago, with you!
Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882-1932]
THE INVISIBLE BRIDE
The low-voiced girls that go
In gardens of the Lord,
Like flowers of the field they grow
In sisterly accord.
Their whispering feet are white
Along the leafy ways;
They go in whirls of light
Too beautiful for praise.
And in their band forsooth
Is one to set me free—
The one that touched my youth—
The one God gave to me.
She kindles the desire
Whereby the gods survive—
The white ideal fire
That keeps my soul alive.