Threescore and Ten And voices which, to name me, aye In heaven these drops of weeping. Now God be thanked for these thick tears, Sweet memories left behind. Now God be thanked for years enwrought Now God be thanked for every thought Earth's guerdon of regret. Earth saddens, never shall remove Affections purely given; And e'en that mortal grief shall prove The immortality of love, And heighten it with Heaven. 457 Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] THREESCORE AND TEN WHO reach their threescore years and ten, I am not of them; life to me Has been a strange, bewildering dream, I thought, I hoped, I knew one thing, And had one gift, when I was young— To have a place in the high choir I sought it long, but never found; Men would not hear me then, and now The best of life went long ago From me; it was not much at best; Only the love that young hearts know, The dear unrest. Back on my past, through gathering tears, They left me here, they left me there, And I go on! And bad or good, Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903] RAIN ON THE ROOF WHEN the humid shadows hover Rain on the Roof What a bliss to press the pillow Of a cottage-chamber bed, And to listen to the patter Of the soft rain overhead! Every tinkle on the shingles And a thousand recollections Weave their air-threads into woof, As I listen to the patter Of the rain upon the roof.. Now in memory comes my mother, Then my little seraph sister, With her wings and waving hair, Glide around my wakeful pillow, As I listen to the murmur Of the soft rain on the roof. And another comes, to thrill me I remember but to love her With a passion kin to pain, 459 Art hath naught of tone or cadence That subdued, subduing strain. By the patter of the rain. Coates Kinney [1826-1904] ALONE BY THE HEARTH HERE, in my snug little fire-lit chamber, And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Saddening it is when the night has descended, Pensively musing on episodes ended Many a year. Still in my visions a golden-haired glory Flits to and fro; She whom I loved-but 'tis just the old story: 'Tis but a wraith of love; yet I linger (Thus passion errs), Foolishly kissing the ring on my finger- Nothing has changed since her spirit departed, Save I, who, weary, and half broken-hearted, Sit in the gloom. Loud 'gainst the window the winter rain dashes, Dreary and cold; Over the floor the red fire-light flashes Just as of old. The Old Man Dreams Just as of old-but the embers are scattered, Whose ruddy blaze Flashed o'er the floor where the fairy feet pattered In other days! Then, her dear voice, like a silver chime ringing, Melted away; Often these walls have re-echoed her singing, 461 Why should love bring naught but sorrow, I wonder? Everything dies! Time and death, sooner or later, must sunder Holiest ties. Years have rolled by; I am wiser and older- Not till my heart and its feelings grow colder, So, in my snug little fire-lit chamber, Sit I alone; And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Days long agone! George Arnold [1834-1865] THE OLD MAN DREAMS OH for one hour of youthful joy! Off with the spoils of wrinkled age! One moment let my life-blood stream Of life all love and fame! |