[Illustration: "STANDS WATCHING THE SETTING SUN."]
Grandmother sits in her easy-chair,
In the ruddy sunlight's glow;
Her thoughts are wandering far away
In the land of Long Ago.
Again she dwells in her father's home,
And before her loving eyes
In the light of a glorious summer day
The gray old farm-house lies.
She hears the hum of the spinning-wheel
And the spinner's happy song;
She sees the bundles of flax that hang
From the rafters, dark and long;
She sees the sunbeams glide and dance
Across the sanded floor;
And feels on her cheek the wandering breeze
That steals through the open door.
Beyond, the flowers nod sleepily
At the well-sweep, gaunt and tall;
And up from the glen comes the musical roar
Of the distant waterfall.
The cows roam lazily to and fro
Along the shady lane;
The shouts of the reapers sound faint and far
From the fields of golden grain.
And grandma herself, a happy girl,
Stands watching the setting sun,
While the spinner rests, and the reapers cease,
And the long day's work is done;
Then something wakes her--the room is dark,
And vanished the sunset glow,
And grandmother wakes, with a sad surprise,
From the dreams of long ago.