The smell of brine was heavy on the air
That blew across the lake.
The mountains to the north were white with snow above
And dogwood petals on the southern slopes.
But winter was forgotten in the plains,
For rivulets imprisoned long in cataracts
Were leaping over waterfalls
And shouting like a red bird,
In an April cedar tree.
Milner drew a long deep breath of spring
And walked into the parlor.
"Alfred!"
"Geraldine!"
"Last night I dreamed of Cornell days,
And saw the redbuds blooming in the hills
Behind the cliffs of Ithaca!"
"The ice in Cascadilla Creek is gone.
All night I heard the roaring of the falls!"
"The call of flickers sounded through the canyons
Of Old Buttermilk, and peckerwoods were beating
Reveilles before the sun was up!"
"Two blue birds built a mansion
In a dead oak trunk
And called the world to witness!"
"Alfred!"
"Geraldine!"
"The train for California leaves at nine!"
Some hours out from Great Salt Lake,
The sand dunes stretching southward
O'er a waste of shrubbery and alkali
Were shimmering in the sunshine
Like copper kettles on a field of bronze.
"Dear Alfred, can you still recall
Those afternoons upon the cliffs above Cayuga Lake?
The little city, Ithaca,
Was like a jewel on the breast of Nature.
The lake a band of silver, stretching northward.
A hundred waterfalls were visible
From where we used to sit.
We often thought the lime-washed houses
Far to west, resembled whited decks
Upon a sea of emerald;
And wondered if our own good ship
Would one day cast its anchor in the harbor.
Over to the right the Cornell towers,
Like mediæval castles beetling o'er the precipice,
Were keeping silent watch above it all.
The memory of those blessed days alone
Has kept my heart alive."