My heart Is very soft to-night, and joys long past Shine through the silver mists of memory, Like sweet stars of the soul. My brow is flushed, My bosom throbs, and blesséd tears well up From my heart’s unsealed fountain, as I see, Through the pale shadows of the years, the home Where first I felt the sweet, bewildering bliss Of new existence. Softly, through the deep Green foliage of the grove, the beautiful White cottage peeps with its thick-blooming vines, And in the distance the still church-yard, where Repose the cold, unthrobbing hearts of those I loved in childhood, lifts its marble shafts Beneath the drooping willows. I behold The shaded paths where my young footsteps strayed To gather wild flowers at the morning tide, And for a few brief moments once again I seem to wander through the dear old wood. The birds sing round me, the dark forest pines, Stirred by the breeze, make music like the low, Faint murmurs of the sea, my playmates shout Beside me, and my mother’s music call Of gentle love is in my ear. Oh, there, In that sweet home, I cherished fairy dreams Of happiness, sad all my being wore A glow of deep, ideal loveliness. My vanished childhood rises to my view In pale and melancholy beauty. Life Since then hath been but desolate. Alas! What heart-chords have been broken, what bright dreams Been shadowed by the hue of grief. No more The Egeria of my spirit-worship haunts The grove and wood. No charm can woo her back, She will not hear my call, she answers not The witching spell of fancy. It is not That Nature has grown old. Her skies are still As blue, her trees as green, her dews as soft, Her flowers as sweet, her clouds as beautiful, Her birds, her waves, her winds as musical As when I was a child—Alas! the change Is in my heart.