The twilight shadows creep along the wall, <br />Without, the sobbing of the wind I hear, <br />And from the vine-clad elm that marks the mere <br />The ivy leaves in crimson eddies fall. <br />Deeper and deeper grow the shades of night, <br />And, gazing in the fire, to me appears <br />The form of one departed with the years- <br />The buried years of hope, and faith and light. <br />'Oh that those lips had language'-would they tell <br />The old, old story of the bygone days- <br />Ere on our heart the blighting shadow fell, <br />And we henceforward followed parted ways? <br />I ask, but as I ask the embers die- <br />The vision fades-and answer none have I.<br /><br />Hiram Ladd Spencer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-buried-years/
