A song of Long Ago: <br />Sing it lightly--sing it low-- <br />Sing it softly--like the lisping of the lips we used to know <br />When our baby-laughter spilled <br />From the glad hearts ever filled <br />With music blithe as robin ever trilled! <br /> <br />Let the fragrant summer-breeze, <br />And the leaves of locust-trees, <br />And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the wings of honey-bees, <br />All palpitate with glee, <br />Till the happy harmony <br />Brings back each childish joy to you and me. <br /> <br />Let the eyes of fancy turn <br />Where the tumbled pippins burn <br />Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled grass and fern,-- <br />There let the old path wind <br />In and out and on behind <br />The cider-press that chuckles as we grind. <br /> <br />Blend in the song the moan <br />Of the dove that grieves alone, <br />And the wild whir of the locust, and the bumble's drowsy drone; <br />And the low of cows that call <br />Through the pasture-bars when all <br />The landscape fades away at evenfall. <br /> <br />Then, far away and clear, <br />Through the dusky atmosphere, <br />Let the wailing of the kildee be the only sound we hear: <br />O sad and sweet and low <br />As the memory may know <br />Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago!<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-song-of-long-ago/
