Beyond, the flowers nod sleepily
At the well-sweep, gaunt and tall;
And up from the glen comes the musical roar
Of the distant waterfall.
The cows roam lazily to and fro
Along the shady lane;
The shouts of the reapers sound faint and far
From the fields of golden grain.
And grandma herself, a happy girl,
Stands watching the setting sun,
While the spinner rests, and the reapers cease,
And the long day’s work is done;
Then something wakes her—the room is dark,
And vanished the sunset glow,
And grandmother wakes, with a sad surprise,
From the dreams of long ago.
ometimes when I am tired of play
My mother says to me,
“Come, daughter, we will call to-day
On Great-aunt Lucy Lee.”
And soon, by mother’s side, I skip
Along the quiet street,
Where tall old trees, on either side,
Throw shadows at my feet.
The houses stand in solemn rows,
And not a child is seen;
The blinds are drawn, the doors are shut,
The walks are span and clean.