In an old home, beneath an older elm-- A fount of weeping greenery, that dripped Its spray of rain and dew upon the roof-- I opened eyes on life; and now return, Among the visions of my early years, Two so distinct that all the rest grow dim: My mother's pale, fond face and tearful eyes, Bent upon me in Love's absorbing trance, From the low window where she watched my play; And, after this, the wondrous elm, that seemed To my young fancy like an airy bosk, Poised by a single stem upon the earth, And thronged by instant marvels. There in Spring I heard with joy the cheery blue-bird's note; There sang rejoicing robins after rain; And there within the emerald twilight, which Defied the mid-day sun, from bough to bough-- A torch of downy flame--the oriole Passed to his nest, to feed the censer-fires Which Love had lit for Airs of Heaven to swing. There, too, through all the weird September-eves I heard the harsh, reiterant katydids Rasp the mysterious silence. There I watched The glint of stars, playing at hide-and-seek Behind the swaying foliage, till drawn By tender hands to childhood's balmy rest. My Mother and the elm! Too soon I learned That o'er me hung, and o'er the widowed one Who gave me birth, with broader boughs, Haunted by sabler wings and sadder sounds, A darker shadow than the mighty elm! I caught the secret in the street from those Who pointed at me as I passed, or paused To gaze in sighing pity on my play; From playmates who, forbidden to divulge The knowledge they possessed, with childish tricks Of indirection strove in vain to hide Their awful meaning in unmeaning phrase; From kisses which were pitiful; from words Gentler than love's because compassionate; From deep, unconscious sighs out of the heart Of her who loved me best, and from her tears That freest flowed when I was happiest. From frailest filaments of evidence, From dark allusions faintly overheard, From hint and look and sudden change of theme When I approached, from widely scattered words Remembered well, and gathered all at length Into consistent terms, I know not how I wrought the full conclusion, nor how young. I only know that when a little child I learned, though no one told, that he who gave My life to me in madness took his own-- Took it from fear of want, though he possessed The finest fortune in the rich old town.