Poetry Archives

I stood in the mossy gateway,
  And thought of years gone by;
Then tapped on latticed windows,
  Heard naught only my sigh.

The house was cold and empty—
  A stranger’s home, they say;
The voices hushed of dear ones,
  Loved footprints passed away.

In fancy then I peopled
  The place with moving life,
The halls again resounded,
  With laughter, song and fife.

In father’s arms I nestle,
  Caressing soft, dark hair;
I beg for one more story,
  Or breathe my childhood’s prayer.

My heart cries out, when fancy
  Brings mother back to me,
Her loving care o’er shadows
  The past sweet memory.

The house now grows resplendent
  With joys of former scene,
My brothers loved so dearly,
  And life a happy dream.

Our uncle, kind and tender,
  The cousins, buoyant, gay;
My playmates calling for me,
  To school we his away.

Awakened from my dreaming,
  Time speaks of saddened years,
Two-score more, and voices hushed.
  Flow now, ye pent-up tears!

Oh, voices hushed, where art thou?
  A stranger lone I stand.
Good-bye, good-bye, old homestead;
  Farewell, sweet mystic band.