Poetry and Prose.

A poem by John Hartley

Do you remember the wood, love,
That skirted the meadow so green;
Where the cooing was heard of the stock-dove,
And the sunlight just glinted between.
The trees, that with branches entwining
Made shade, where we wandered in bliss,
And our eyes with true love-light were shining, -
When you gave me the first loving kiss?

The ferns grew tall, graceful and fair,
But none were so graceful as you;
Wild flow'rs in profusion were there,
But your eyes were a lovelier blue;
And the tint on your cheek shamed the rose,
And your brow as the lily was white,
And your curls, bright as gold, when it glows,
In the crucible, liquid and bright.

And do you remember the stile,
Where so cosily sitting at eve,
Breathing forth ardent love-vows the while,
We were only too glad to believe?
And the castles we built in the air,
Oh! what glorious structures were they!
No temple all earth was so fair, -
But alas! they all vanished away.

And do you remember the time,
When cruel fate forced us apart,
When with resignation sublime
We obeyed, though with pain in each heart.
Then years dragged their wearisome round,
And we ne'er again met as of yore, -
But we did meet at last and we found,
Things were not as they had been before.

You'd a child on your rough sunburned arm,
And your husband had one on his knee,
And I had my own little swarm,
For I was the father of three.
And I know we both thought of the days
When love and romance filled each heart,
Now, we both have our children to raise, -
You're washing, - I'm driving a cart.