Long years ago in childhood's hour.
Beneath an old Beech Tree,
A sweeter and a daintier flower
Than ever graced a lea,
Unfolded all its beauteous bloom
And shed its rich and rare perfume
Alone, alone for me.
The dewdrop sparkling on the rose
Is fresh and fair to see;
I love the lily when it blows
And rocks the cradled bee;
But fairer than the diamond dew
Or lily, was the flower that grew
Beneath the old Beech Tree.
Rose-petaled with a golden fringe,
And calyx to agree;
A dash of sea-foam and a tinge
Of sky in harmony;
The subtile perfume sunny smiles,
And sunnier love, though but a child's,
Beneath an old Beech Tree.
One morn I sought the cooling shade
With heart as light and free
As snowy whitecap ever played
Upon the bounding sea;
But she, the fairy child, was gone,--
The flower that grew for me alone--
Beneath the old Beech Tree.
The brooks still ran the hills among
And babbled on in glee;
The birds still mated, loved and sung
In tuneful melody:
But all the soul of song was lost;
My flower had withered with the frost
Beneath the old Beech Tree.
The years ran on in golden sands
For lovers rapidly;
The flowers waved their magic wands
And smiled still joyously:
But love's enchanting power was gone
For me whom Death had left alone
Beneath the old Beech Tree.
* * * * *
The moonlight sifting through the leaves
Fell soft and silvery,
As threads that sly Arachne weaves
With artful modesty;
It fell and wove a mystic veil
About her face; my cheek grew pale
Beneath the Chestnut Tree.
A breathless moment, all was still;
A deep solemnity
Hung over earth,--and then a thrill
Of love and mystery--
An odor of a rare perfume,
The sweetest flower that e'er did bloom
Beneath the Chestnut Tree!
The brooks now run the hills among
And babble on in glee;
For love brought back the soul of song
Beneath the Chestnut Tree;--
Brought back, while moonlit breezes blew
The sweetest flower that ever grew,
Alone, alone for me.