Poetry Archives

In silent hours of midnight while earth is wrapped in dreams,
I ponder o’er my present life—how desolate it seems.
Through wakeful hours I scan each page penned in despair and grief,
Then turn to my loved childhood’s home for comfort and relief.

A cottage white was standing there among the grand old hills.
And ’midst the spreading shady trees were songs of laughing rills.
In that dear home my parents lived, my brothers large and small,
With uncles, aunts and cousins near, and I the pet of all.

But listen! ’tis my childrens’ call, I hear their plaintive prayer,
In fancy now I press soft cheeks and fondly stroke fair hair.
Wide seas may roll between us, yet my darlings will life brave,
Perchance be folded to my heart, or kiss their mother’s grave.