4523989Poems — My PlaymatesMary Caroline Denver
MY PLAYMATES.
Ah, yes! methinks I see them stand
Before me even now;
I grasp each dear, familiar hand,—
I gaze on each remembered brow.
They are the same—to me the same—
As when I gazed upon them last;
For time can neither dim nor tame
Those visions of the past.
Our hearts may change, our hopes may wane,
Butt hose bright visions will remain.

Though time has passed, with lengthened chain,
And bid some flowers depart,
That blossomed in the smiling train
Which decked the life-wreath of the heart;
The loveliest and the dearest ones
Remain to grace the dying scene,
To mingle their regretful tones
In grief for what has been,
To shed a fragrance o'er the tomb
Of those that rest within its gloom.

Then will the love that shed a beam
Of heaven upon our hearts
Remain, until the last, sweet dream
That lights their darkness up departs;
Yes! there it lingers, still the same,
Unchanged by care, untouched by pain,
Linked with each old, familiar name,
In recollection's chain!
And ere that love is dimmed with rust,
Its throne will crumble into dust.

Though thought will sometimes wander here,
To tell us what they are,
Remembrance whispers in our ear
But to remind us that they were
The loved companions of our youth,
Whose joys were joys that we could share.
Whose hearts were guileless as the truth
So deeply seated there;
Ah! though our feet may onward roam,
Our hearts are with our childhood's home.

They linger still beneath the skies
That first upon them shone,
Where yet our best affections rise
Like incense from its altar-stone;
Making sweet music through the woods,
Though not a sound may echo there,
And filling the deep solitudes
With some familiar air,
That oft would rise, and echo long
Through the dark woods—that sweet, old song!

Dear playmates! ere the rose-leaves fall,
They fill with fragrant breath
The air; and so I breathe, to all,
Out from my life's fast-fading wreath
Of' simple wild-flowers, one fond song;
A loving souvenir from me,
Who'd fain the dear old friends among,
Thereby remembered be,
When I no more shall sing or sigh,
Or heed the seasons where I lie.