EVENTIDE
Whenever, with reverent footsteps,
I pass through the open door
Of Memory's stately palace,
Where dwell the days of yore,
One scene, like a lovely vision,
Comes to me o'er and o'er.
I pass through the open door
Of Memory's stately palace,
Where dwell the days of yore,
One scene, like a lovely vision,
Comes to me o'er and o'er.
'Tis a dim, fire-lighted chamber;
There are pictures on the wall;
And around them dance the shadows
Grotesque and weird and tall,
As the flames on the storied hearth-stone
Wavering rise and fall.
There are pictures on the wall;
And around them dance the shadows
Grotesque and weird and tall,
As the flames on the storied hearth-stone
Wavering rise and fall.
An ancient cabinet stands there,
That came from beyond the seas,
With a breath of spicy odors
Caught from the Indian breeze;
And its fluted doors and moldings
Are dark with mysteries.
That came from beyond the seas,
With a breath of spicy odors
Caught from the Indian breeze;
And its fluted doors and moldings
Are dark with mysteries.
There's an old arm-chair in the corner,
Straight-backed and tall and quaint;
Ah! many a generation—
Sinner and sage and saint—
It hath held in its ample bosom
With murmur nor complaint!
Straight-backed and tall and quaint;
Ah! many a generation—
Sinner and sage and saint—
It hath held in its ample bosom
With murmur nor complaint!
