THE VISITOR 



By STACEY E, BAKER 



Sweet with the perfume of the long days dead, 

 Old Memory knocked softly at my door, 

 And bade me dream of times agone, once more- 



When Life, and Youth, the optimist, were wed, 



And rosy moments gauzy winged, quick sped, 

 And golden hours yielded me their store : 

 Old Memory, from Time's receding shore, 



Came back to conjure up the joy days fled. 



I strolled beside the singing rill, I heard 

 The rustle of the forest breezes, and 

 The trilling cadence of the mocking bird ; 



Dream-bound, I wandered o'er the meadow land 

 With, all beyond, the yellow ripening grain, 

 And, close beside, the cricket's sad refrain. 



