DREAMS
Against their will it all came back—the plains, the village street,
The poplar standing motionless above the silent pond.
The garden they remembered, known from their cradle-time,
Where in the days of childhood, forever past, they played—
Where merrily the broken swing was wont to creak aloud,
And rippling laughter blithe was heard beneath the chequered shade;
The steep hill and the bower on it, the strips of golden wheat,
The path that like a serpent into the dark woods wound,
The peaceful light of dawn that shone beyond the slumberous stream—
And silence on our circle fell; we sat without a sound.
We all of us were longing to forget: for want and toil,
Privations sore and many cares had weighed upon us long;
And, with a gentle, soothing song of reconciling love,
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