Old Scenes
Nay, those old scenes where we have walked and you
have talked to me,
Are dearer far than other climes or other scenes can be;
The sun may send its glad rays down to tint the paths
I tread,
And perfumed blooms you have not known may bend
low overhead;
But through it all, the dew-gemmed morn, the sunset’s
afterglow,
I’ll sit and talk with you beneath the trees we used to
know.
All, all that makes my far-drawn ways the least bit fair
shall be
That they in some small measure bring the old, old
days to me;
My heart shall say, “The sun comes up and tints those
far-off slopes;
The dew hangs bright on cobweb strands, till they appear
as ropes
Of swinging pearl; and the whole scene and all the
sunlit ways
Are fair; almost as fair as where we walked in other
days.”
Ways that your dear feet have not trod, your bright eyes
have not known,
But wake my soul to sigh that I must walk those ways
alone;
And every floating butterfly, and every lilting song,
That I shall see or hear will bring back memories so
strong
Of other days and other ways, and skies a deeper blue,
That I shall love them just because they bring me
thoughts of you.