Riley Farm-Rhymes

A SONG OF LONG AGO

     A song of Long Ago:
     Sing it lightly—sing it low—
     Sing it softly—like the lisping of the lips we
       used to know
     When our baby-laughter spilled
     From the glad hearts ever filled
     With music blithe as robin ever trilled!

     Let the fragrant summer breeze,
     And the leaves of locust-trees,
     And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the
         wings of honey-bees,
     All palpitate with glee,
     Till the happy harmony
     Brings back each childish joy to you and me.

     Let the eyes of fancy turn
     Where the tumbled pippins burn
     Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled
         grass and fern,—
     There let the old path wind
     In and out and on behind
     The cider-press that chuckles as we grind.

     Blend in the song the moan
     Of the dove that grieves alone,
     And the wild whir of the locust, and the
         bumble's drowsy drone;
     And the low of cows that call
     Through the pasture-bars when all
     The landscape fades away at evenfall.

     Then, far away and clear,
     Through the dusky atmosphere,
     Let the wailing of the killdee be the only
         sound we hear:
     O sad and sweet and low
     As the memory may know
     Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago!