The ordered intermingling
of the real and the dream,—
The mill above the river,
and the mist above the stream;
The life of ceaseless labor,
brave with song and cheery call—
The radiant skies of evening,
with its rainbow o'er us all.
An Old Sweetheart of Mine!—Is this
her presence here with me,
Or but a vain creation of
a lover's memory?
A fair, illusive vision
that would vanish into air
Dared I even touch the silence
with the whisper of a prayer?
Nay, let me then believe in all
the blended false and true—
The semblance of the old love
and the substance of the new,—
The then of changeless sunny days—
the now of shower and shine—
But Love forever smiling,—
as that old sweetheart of mine.
This ever-restful sense of home,
though shouts ring in the hall.—
The easy-chair—the old bookshelves
and prints along the wall;