Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By John HenryBoner

946 We Walked among the Whispering Pines

IT was a still autumnal day—

So sadly still and strangely bright—

The hectic glow of quick decay

Tinged everything with lovely light.

It warmly touched the fragrant air

And fields of corn and crumbling vines

Along the golden Yadkin, where

We walked among the whispering pines

Alas, that tender hectic glow

Shone in her gentle, pallid face,

And none save God in heaven could know

My agony to see its trace—

To watch those fatal roses bloom

Upon her cheeks—red, cruel signs—

But all of love, not of the tomb,

We spoke among the whispering pines.

Ah, fatal roses—never yet

Have they deceived. She drooped and died.

We parted and we never met

Again; but often at my side

An angel walks,—her step I know,—

A viewless arm my neck entwines.

O angel love, so years ago

We walked among the whispering pines.