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  ― 175 ―

This Year's Honeysuckle.

The honeysuckle breathes again, as fragrant to the bee
E'en as it was in summers past, but, oh, how changed to me!
The memories it used to bring were joyous all and bright,
But now its every blossom tells of grief and faded light.

Its clusters once were linked with thoughts of mornings pure and mild,
Showering their sunshine on a grange in which a mother smiled:
The house seemed filled with music then, like that blessed home above,
Where all affections blend to form the harmony of love!

But she who bound its hearts in one no longer lingers here:
The autumn's last sere, rustling leaves fell sadly on her bier;
And now around that quiet spot there broods a settled gloom,
Gathered in deepest mournfulness within one shaded room.

Her children still are dwelling there, but like to unstrung beads,
Separate in pleasure and in pain, in thoughts, and words, and deeds;
Whilst o'er his silent hearth at night the father bends in woe,
Feeling the dreary loneliness that left ones only know.

Henceforth a cloud will dim they bloom, thou fair and fragrant flower;
Wherever I may see thee hang, on hedge-row, porch or bower:
Joining the many, many joys already past away,
Another dream of perfect bliss hath melted into day!

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