Once in my childish days I heard
A woman's voice that slowly read,
How 'twixt two shadowy mountains sped
Four colored steeds, four chariots whirr'd.
I watched until she laid the book
On the white casement-ledge again;
My heart beat high with joyful pain
On that strange oracle to look.
Day after day I would ascend
The staircase in that large old house,
And still and timorous as a mouse
I sat and made the book my friend.
I saw the birth of seas and skies,
The first sweet woman, first brave man;
I saw how morning light began,
How faded--over Paradise.
I stood with the first Arab boy;
I saw the mother and the child,
Of Oriental vision wild,
Laugh by the well for utter joy.
I saw the youth go forth at morn,
A traveler to the Syrian land,
And in the lonely evening stand
An exile weary and forlorn.
I saw him by the roadside lay
His sunken head upon a stone,
And while he slumbered, still and lone,
A dream fell on him, fair as day.
I saw a golden ladder reach
From earth to heaven among the stars,
And up and down its gleaming bars
Trod stately angels, without speech.
What wonders did I not behold!
Dark gorgeous women, turbaned men,
White tents, like ships, in plain and glen,
Slaves, palm trees, camels, pearls, and gold.
Ah! many an hour I sat and read,
And God seemed with me all day long;
Joy murmured a sweet undersong,
I talkt with angels, with them fed.
It was an old deserted room;
There was a skylight strait above,
And the blue sky lookt thro' like love,
Softening and coloring mortal gloom.
No playmate had I, knew no game,
Yet sometimes left my book to run
And blow bright bubbles in the sun--
In after life we do the same.
That time is gone; you think me weak
That I regret that perisht time,
That I recall my golden prime
With beating heart and blushing cheek.
That Book so prized, you tell me, friend,
Is full of false and deadly tales:
You say, "a palsied world bewails
Its influence; but it soon shall end."
Thank God for that: I live for truth,
Glad to resign each rainbow sham;
But, still remembering what I am,
I praise my sweet and saintly youth
It was so genial and sincere,
My joy and wonder were so strong,
So rare and delicate a song
Young Life was singing in mine ear.
I therefore still in fancy climb
Up to that old and faded room,
Where feelings like fresh roses bloom
Over the grave of that fair time.