A Reverie.
By Alfred Castner King
O, tomb of the past
Where buried hopes lie,
In my visions I see
Thy phantoms pass by!
A form, long departed,
Before me appears;
A sweet voice, long silent,
Again greets my ears.
Fond memory dwells
On the things that have been;
And my eyes calmly gaze
On a long vanished scene;
A scene such as memory
Stores deep in the breast,
Which only appears
In a season of rest.
Once more we wander,
Her fair hand in mine;
Once more her promise,
"I'll ever be thine";
Once more the parting,
The shroud, and the pall,
The sods' hollow thump
As they coffinward fall.
The reverie ends--
All the fancies have flown;
And my sad, lonely heart,
Now seems doubly alone;
As the Ivy, whose tendrils
Reach longingly out,
Yet finds not an oak
To entwine them about.