Wandering in the dewy twilight
Of a golden summer day,
When the mists upon the mountains
Flushed with purple splendor lay:
When the sunlight kissed the hilltops
And the vales were hushed and dim,
And from out the forest arches
Rose a holy vesper hymn—
I lost something. Have you seen it,
Children, ye who passed that way?
Did you chance to find the treasure
That I lost that summer day?
It was neither gold nor silver,
Orient pearl nor jewel rare;
Neither amethyst nor ruby,
Nor an opal gleaming fair;
’Twas no curious, quaint mosaic
Wrought by cunning master-hands,
Nor a cameo where Hebe,
Crowned with deathless beauty, stands.
Yet have I lost something precious;
Children, ye who passed that way—
Tell me, have you found the treasure
That I lost one summer day?
Then, you say, it was a casket
Filled with India’s perfumes rare,
Or a tiny flask of crystal
Meet the rose’s breath to bear;
Or a bird of wondrous plumage,
With a voice of sweetest tone,
That, escaping from my bosom,
To the greenwood deep has flown.
Ah! not these, I answer vainly;
Children, ye who passed that way,
Ye can never find the treasure
That I lost that summer day!
You may call it bird or blossom;
Name my treasure what you will;
Here no more its song or fragrance
Shall my soul with rapture fill.
But, thank God! our earthly losses
In no darksome void are cast;
Safely garnered, some to-morrow
Shall restore them all at last.
Somewhere in the great hereafter,
Children, ye who pass this way,
I shall find again the treasure
That I lost one summer day!