An Evening Reverie. 



Across the lapse of by-gone years, 

 My fancy takes its flight to-night; 



And through the mists of rising tears 

 The forms of loved ones come in sight. 



I stretch the hand of welcome forth, 

 It meets not once a tender grasp; 



Those forms are visions not of earth, 

 They rise my very soul to rasp. 



They take me back to days of yore, 

 When I, a youth, with fancy free 



And heart of hope, did wander o'er 

 The hills and dales so dear to me. 



Then, all of nature out of door 

 Did open wide her field and fen, 



And beg of me to read her lore 



And keep my eyes from works of men. 



I heard her not, her secrets grand 

 Were hidden from my feeble sight, 



And no one tried with tender hand 

 To lead me on into the light. 



(15) 



