[From _The Crimson Hand and Other Poems_ (Philadelphia, 1881)]
In a box of airy trifles--fans, flowers, and ribbons gay--
I chanced to find a tasselled glove, worn once on the first of
May.
How long ago? Ah me, ah me! twelve years, twelve years today!
Alas! for that beautiful, fragrant time, so far in the past away,
And crowned with sweeter memories than any other May,
Standing alone, in a checkered life--it was my wedding day!
The passing hours were shod with light, and their glowing sandals
made
Such sunny tracks that they guide me yet through a retrospect of
shade.
Through changes and shadows of twelve long years, down that
love-lit path I stray;
The winters come and the winters go, yet it leads to an endless
May.
No leaves of the autumn have fallen there, and never a flake of
snow
Has chilled the path of those May-day hours that gleam through the
long ago!
The flowering cherry's wild perfume came stealing, bitter sweet,
From fragrant breezes drifting heaps of blossoms to my feet;
The flowers are dust, but the bees that bore their subtle sweets
away
Dropped golden honey on the path of that beautiful first of May.
And the sweetness clings, for I gather it in wandering back today.
Twelve years! twelve years!--a long, long life for a little
tasselled glove!
Yet, I treasure it still for his dear sake who clasped with so
much love
The hand that wore, on that festal night, this delicate, dainty
thing--
His forever! bound to him by the link of a wedding ring!
The glove is soiled and faded now, but the ring is as bright today
As the love that flooded my life with light on that beautiful
first of May.