And greet their parent’s cherished friend,
Yet mingling with that welcome dear,
Are voices that they may not hear;
For visioned forms around me glide,
And tender memories throng my side,
Till tears, like pearl-drops, all apart,
Swell in the silence of the heart.
———
Methinks thou speak’st of change. ’Tis true;
What hand may hold the morning dew